Transcendence
by ithilbereth
Summary: The tide of the Ring War is rising. Nieriel has no plans of taking part; her life of serving Lady Arwen and ridding Rivendell of orcs is enough for her. Yet the hands of fate have other plans; battles, quests, fellows Nieriel is certain she could do without...especially the arrogant Legolas. But the tide has brought with it a storm of mayhem, challenging Nieriel at every turn.
1. Chapter 1: On the Horizon

**Chapter One: On the Horizon**

_The fields of Gondor yet unclaimed, Second Age, 3441_

_ I have never seen such destruction._

Grey eyes swept the fields around him in chilling disbelief. He knew the cost had been great, the lives lost many, but he could not quite recall in his long life such an empty, hollow sight. Fields had been burned. Villages ransacked. People driven from their homes, left as skeletons for the crows, charred shells of what they once were. Their bodies littered the road, the hills, the mountains…

Elrond brought his eyes back to the road before him, upon which his horse Firverior trod. _It will do me no good to linger on that which I cannot change._

It had been days since the last battle of the War of the Last Alliance, the Siege of Barad-dûr, had ended. Seven long, harrowing years, and it was over in just a few days. Sauron had been smote to his ruin, the darkness felled. The few orcs and uruk-hai that had not been killed during battle had fled, and Elrond was certain they would be lost with time.

_Though I would feel infinitely better if Isildur had cast the Ring into the Crack of Doom, _he thought, shifting his jaw to offset his frustration. A fool he thought Isildur; a righteous fool, but a fool all the same.

_It is done._

But it did not feel like a victory. The sky was overcast with grey clouds that threatened rain, and there were no larks or sparrows to accompany their caravan back home to Rivendell. It was not cold, but the air held a chill to it: the chill and pallor of death. Somewhere between Gondor and Arnor they were, in the vast span of land that had yet to be claimed by any. It was a bleak land, of rolling green and yellow hills and black, rocky crags, with copses of pines or hardy bushes here and there. The Ered Nimrais loomed to his left, dark and foreboding, with fog swirling about and thickening as it churned toward the peaks. It was not a cheerful atmosphere, and it made Elrond less somber than he would have liked to be after a victory he had worked hard for, had yearned for.

They had lost many, _too many_, and he and his comrades felt the loss like one of their own limbs. Elrond himself would be returning to his lands with less than half of what he set out with, to claim that evil had been defeated and Middle Earth saved from ruin. However, the cause of it all, the One Ring of Power, still held true. All because of one man's greed.

_Hopefully this price for peace has been paid in full and that trinket becomes inconsequential, lost with time._

Elrond turned his head slightly, looking to the right. Maybe there was a sparrow or two brave enough to traverse the broken fields. He heard the melody of one singing over the _crunch crunch_ of Firverior hooves against the road. Although, as he tilted his head further he thought, _that sounds like no sparrow I have ever heard before._

An abject sense of dismay gripped him then, coming on so suddenly he could not explain his next actions. He held up a single fist and behind him the call of, "Hold!" was shouted down the line of soldiers.

"What is it?" Círdan, the late Gil-galad's first lieutenant, asked.

Elrond frowned, thinking the sound was less melodious than he first thought; not like the song of the birds at all, but more like…_a whine? Some incessant, high-pitched humming? What could be making that noise out here, in the middle of this desolate and depraved land?_

Elrond dismounted from Firverior but stood next to the beast, unmoving, just listening. Círdan looked at him quizzically, exchanging a look of befuddlement with the nearest soldier, before saying to Elrond, "What is it, Lord Elrond?"

Elrond began to walk away from his horse, leaving behind the procession, much to the perplexity of those that watched the elf-lord. He had his eyes trained to what he thought probably used to be a village but was now charred remains of such, burned to ash and blackened rocks. Stinking bodies rotted in the dim light of the sun, and were laden with flies, beetles, and crows. As he walked by bones of a tree that had been burned, buzzards looked down from their perch with curious, beady eyes.

But he heard it still. That _noise_. More like a whimpering now, a sad, pathetic sound.

Círdan had dismounted behind him and followed close with his sword drawn as his eyes darted this way and that. Elrond knew the moment he heard the sound too when he asked, "What is _that_?"

The noise was not getting louder but Elrond drew closer to it, and although Círdan had drawn his blade he did not. He sensed no harm, felt no malevolence in the air. Carefully, quietly, he walked around the shells of lost homes, evaded decimated bodies, and peered around what foliage had been left untouched by the fires that had brought this poor, homely village to its knees.

It was in one of those unscathed bushes that he found her.

Frozen in shock, Elrond peered down at the small child that sat before him in the dirt. He had parted the half-burned branches of a thistle to reveal her, and as he stared at her for long moments he was not quite sure he could believe his eyes. She was young, a small girl, maybe around the human age of five. She was sickly pale, and her bones appeared to be pulled tightly over her skin she looked so emaciated; her eyes were sunken and ringed in black, her cheeks hollow. Her long, brown hair was matted, tangled, burned to the scalp on one side of her head, and her dark emerald eyes were vacant and glassy as they stared not up at his face, but his feet. She wore the most horrendous gown he had ever seen, a pathetic remnant of the splendor of what it once was; he could not even decipher the color. Caked with mud, torn severely, and so soaked with dried blood that he would think she had lain in it for days. Her feet were bare but blackened, and the skin of her limbs was either burned red from the touch of flames, lacerated, or black and blue with bruising. Her face was filthy, with a festering gash over her right cheek to snarl her upper lip ever so slightly. It was she who was making the noise, a ceaseless mewling that held no inflection, uttered through cracked and bloodied lips. She did not stop her noise, not even when Elrond appeared.

"By the gods," Círdan came to stand behind him, and now stared down at the girl in open-mouthed horror. "It is a girl."

Elrond could not move, so in astonishment was he. They had not seen any sign of life since they had left Gondor, friend nor foe. But this child…here? Had survived?

"She is Elvish I think." Círdan murmured, moving to stand by Elrond, parting back the bush with his own gloved hand for a better look.

Elrond's gaze flickered to her ear revealed by her missing hair and indeed, it held a pointed tip. Surprise struck him anew. _Who is she? Where has she come from, to be so far from home? Her kin, where are they?_

The child had yet to acknowledge he or Círdan. Pity swelled within him. _She is in the throes of shock. She has seen too much, does not comprehend what happened no more than she could the war._

"How has this child survived? Come all the way from our own lands…" Círdan sounded morbidly shocked, and Elrond glanced at him to find his face twisted in a mix of pity and repugnance. Círdan shook his head, letting the bush fall back into place as he began to move away. "Put her out of her misery, Lord Elrond, and let us be on our way."

Elrond turned his eyes back to the girl. If she had heard his harsh words, she gave no hint. She continued to whine, her eyes fixed on the space where he stood.

_I have taken too many lives already… But what kind of life awaits her if I do not?_

He put his hand on his scabbard, but dread rose thick and cloying in his throat. He shifted his jaw once more and moved to wrap his fingers around the hilt of his sword. He found his fingers would not cooperate with his better sense, and he dropped his hand in a fist by his side.

Torn in indecision, he tried to move away, but found that he could not.

_I cannot just leave her here… _His mien softened at the sight of her, so wretched, so poor.

Elrond knew it was not in his heart to kill her no more than it was to let her sit in that bush and become prey to whatever fate awaited her.

He reached down for the small girl and took her into his arms. She gave no resistance, but nor did she readily enfold herself to his grasp. She did not change her tune nor balk at his touch, and she felt stiff in his arms and smelled as filthy as she looked. She weighed nothing, and a new pang of sorrow took hold of his chest as he cradled her close. _She has suffered much._

"What are you doing?" Círdan asked, incredulous as he turned and watched as Elrond approached. "You mean to take her?"

"I cannot just leave her." Elrond told Círdan, walking past the lieutenant back to Firverior. The ebony destrier sidled nervously at the newcomer, his ears pinned flat to his head.

"Elrond, she will not survive the journey back to Rivendell! Look at the wretch." Círdan exclaimed, coming up behind Elrond as the elf-lord reached up to place the girl in the saddle, and then prepared to swing himself up.

"She does not deserve to lie here in filth no more than she deserves to die. She did not ask for this." Elrond replied, settling himself behind the girl on top of Firverior. Her humming had not stopped, and the warhorse tossed his head in dissent.

"She is addled, Elrond! It matters naught! She will die with the coming of the dawn; you can see that as plainly as I can." Círdan continued, taking the reins to his own mount.

"That is for fate to decide."

Mumbling beneath his breath, Círdan took to his own saddle and shook his head in Elrond's direction as the elf-lord motioned to begin the procession once more. Tucked in the saddle before him, nestled between his armor-clad arms, the girl swayed to the movement of Firverior, her eyes dully vacant on the long road ahead. She was cold, Elrond belatedly realized, and so he pulled his cloak from his saddlebag and draped it around her, making sure to cover her legs, tuck it in around her shoulders.

_Whatever grace of mercy the gods decided to lend you this day, little one, _he thought, gazing down at her. _I hope you transcend it with all that you are capable of._

And so they continued the journey home.

* * *

"You say you found her along the road?"

Elrond glanced up at Celeborn from his seat beside the girl's bed, and rose to meet the noble of Lórinand. "In what appeared to be a village that had been destroyed, yes. She had taken shelter in a thistle bush."

"And you know nothing of her?"

"Save the fact that she is Elvish, no. She has not spoken since coming to be in my care."

Elrond had been home for nearly a fortnight now. On this night, and in the two days preceding it, a host of nobles had come to his city of Imladris to convene and celebrate the fall of Sauron. Elrond had spent a great deal of time inquiring of the girl's parents, her lineage, where she might have came from, but no information was forthcoming. He had kept her sheltered from prying eyes, not wanting to upset or cause her more undue suffering, however he trusted Celeborn and Galadriel, and their daughter Celebrían was his most beloved. With Celeborn and Galadriel's longevity and worldliness, Elrond thought maybe they could lend more insight to the girl than he had discovered.

The girl lay in a feather bed in small room in one of the servant's wings in Rivendell. She had been scrubbed, washed, oiled, and tended to by Elrond's own hand for her burns and lacerations. Slowly, and under his practiced care, she was coming back into the hands of health. She had ceased her mindless humming, but as he had said to Celeborn, remained mute. Elrond knew nothing more about her since the first day he had found her.

"This poor creature," Celebrían knelt beside the bed, her face mottled with soft pity as she stroked the girl's brow. She was asleep now, had been sleeping often and heavily. However, her appetite was growing and her emerald eyes were beginning to lose their glassy, vacant glow as she settled into the calm and soothing surroundings of Rivendell. "She has seen so much for one so young."

"She does not look familiar to you?" Elrond asked first Celeborn, and then turned his eyes to Galadriel. "You have not heard of anyone missing a child?"

Celeborn shook his head, drawing Elrond's gaze. "It is not uncommon for children to be orphaned after war has shaken the earth."

Elrond turned his eyes back to the girl, so small and frail. Her skin was just beginning to heal from the burns, and the laceration that had almost halved her face was now a hardened, ruby scab. Her skin was the color of the sands of Lindon, and her hair, once it had been washed and combed, shimmered with golden, ebon, and burgundy undertones in waves of russet that fell to her waist. She was slight, still skin and bones, and was weak when she moved; a ramification of all that she had went through.

"She would have walked from our lands to be found in the realm of Gondor." Galadriel said softly, coming to sit in Elrond's vacated chair. She reached forth to sooth the girl, a hand tender on chin. "Unless someone had abducted her, and then lost her in the midst of the chaos."

"That is what I gathered as well." Elrond replied, his eyes gentle as they took in the small being that had nestled into a soft spot of his heart.

Upon hearing his tone, Galadriel glanced up at him. "You are to keep her." She did not frame it as a question, did not have to. There was none.

"I know not what else to do. She will not speak; I do not even know her name. I have not had any inquiries for a missing child, and those I have asked no nothing of one. She is too young to send away, has not yet begun to fully heal…"

But Elrond knew it had been a losing battle from the start. When she had looked at him for the first time, waking from a deep sleep of which he thought she had succumbed to death, Elrond knew he was lost. Her green eyes had shimmered, filled with unspoken tears that would not fall, before she had clutched onto him in a grip that trembled and burrowed herself into his arms.

"You cannot send her away," Celebrían said, coming out of her kneel in a graceful flourish of shining blue skirts. "She has no one, Elrond."

Elrond looked at his dear Celebrían, felt the soft touch of her hand against his forearm. They were not yet married, but his heart had been lost to her from the first moment they had met. He felt her influence on him then as he gazed into her bright, morning-blue eyes, and his face softened out of its stern lines.

"What would you have me do?" he asked her, though he knew the answer; it was the answer that resided in his own heart.

He felt for the girl. She had traversed war-torn lands, escaped merciless torture from those who would see her dead, and pried herself from the very grip of death countless times. It spoke of strength, a strength Elrond did not see in many men, and maybe something a little more. Maybe the hand of fate was at play here, and Elrond was not keen to deny her.

"Keep her here; let her become a member of your household." Celebrían implored, her hand tightening on Elrond's forearm. "She has overcome and endured so much…she deserves a life of peace."

_Peace_. Elrond's eyes moved back to the small girl, and he smiled softly. "That she does."

* * *

_Rivendell, Third Age, 3018_

It was a sparkling autumn day in the dell of Imladris, with a cool breeze that swirled brightly colored leaves and the scent of trees throughout its many porticos and balconies. The ivory stone roofs and white facades of the houses of Rivendell reflected the light of the afternoon sun warmly and radiantly, and although the two were sheltered in a gazebo near River Hall, the Lady of Rivendell and her companion did not feel the chilling touch of the shadows. Arwen was languorously lounging on a stone bench, her sable hair tickling the uneven stone of the floor, humming a melodious tune with her eyes closed as she basked in an errant ray of sun. Her dearest friend Nieriel sat opposite her, reading _The Deceit of Annatar._

"How different this world would be if your father and the other ring-bearers had not discovered Annatar for who he really was." Nieriel remarked absentmindedly, her emerald eyes trailing the pages of lore written by Elrond's own hand, her long, slender fingers reverently stroking the vellum.

"Surely you and I would not be sitting here as we are now." Arwen replied, twisting a single strand of hair around her finger.

"Ah, but you are not sitting." Nieriel said smartly, causing Arwen to peek open her eyes and glare affably at her companion.

"Whatever would I do without your insight and intuitiveness?" Arwen said blandly, drawing a small smile from her friend as she sat up slowly, her long hair falling to brush the bench on which she once laid. Her gown, a beautiful crimson compliment to her fair skin and dark hair, rippled with her movements, and Nieriel watched as Arwen came to her feet and then glided to the nearest balustrade. The gazebo overlooked the city nestled in the valley, where homes, decorated walkways, and gardens lay. Waterfalls were abundant, carving their paths down the Misty Mountains and into the glade to empty into the mighty Bruinen, the river which Rivendell bordered. River Hall rested behind them, but Arwen's eyes lay on her home city and the splendor it exuded.

Nieriel laid aside her book, her brow furrowing ever so slightly. "What is the matter, Arwen? You seem troubled." She could see it in her lady's stance, in the way her moon-silver eyes darkened, and her face suddenly shadowed in turmoil.

"I sense a danger in the air." Arwen said softly, her voice, usually melodious, wavering with trepidation. "An ancient danger; one that is dark and utterly evil."

Nieriel rose from her stone seat, the green gown of her plain maiden's garb billowing around her legs as she crossed the distance to stand nearest Arwen. The Elven noble was her most beloved friend, her most trusted confidant, and she worried for her in this moment; she did not like this troubling façade of her lady. They had grown up together; Arwen as Lady of Rivendell after her mother, the fair and gracious Celebrían, and her, Nieriel, as her handmaiden, and so Nieriel knew her well. And this trepidation was not like Arwen.

"What is this you speak?" Nieriel asked, not knowing if she wanted the answer. For some time now, the shadow in the east had been growing; even here in Rivendell they felt the effects of such. Orc raids had increased in number and intensity and uruk-hai dared to cross their lands. On many a scouting mission she and Arwen had ran into packs of wargs, sometimes a troll or two. More than once they had came across scorched earth and abandoned villages while out riding.

"I do not know," Arwen replied, turning her grey eyes to meet Nieriel's green ones. "But there has been much talk of the Ring."

Nieriel's mouth hardened and her eyes narrowed as a bolt fear lanced her heart, before she quickly dismissed it. "The One Ring of Power?"

"Yes." Arwen whispered, her eyes trailing from Nieriel to overlook her beloved city of Rivendell.

Nieriel knew the power the trinket held, what could happen if it fell into the wrong hands. The Ruling Ring had the authority to control the other rings, and in turn, their ring-bearers. All would be slave to whoever held it, and in turn, a slave to evil. Thankfully, it had been in the keeping of the hobbit Bilbo Baggins, and Gollum before him, for the longest time, safe and sound and silent, but what of it now?

"What do you know, Arwen?"

"Evil is rising." Arwen replied, her eyes glimmering, her voice suddenly hollow. "From the Necromancer he has risen, unchecked and unhindered, morphing into The Lidless Eye to keep watch over Middle Earth from Barad-dûr, biding his time until he can take a more substantial form. His minions do his bidding, breeding filth from the bowels of Mordor to create armies unlike the earth has ever seen. Why do you think we have seen an increase in the number of orcs and uruk-hai in our lands? Why wargs run rampant and destroy homes and towns? Sauron knows the Ring is in the keeping of Bilbo and will stop at nothing to obtain it…and now has the means to do so."

Nieriel's eyes widened; these new changes chilled her, enraged her. "Why have we not stopped him? I do not understand how such a great enemy goes overlooked."

"Saurman has forbid it. To speak against him would invite death."

"Saruman is a fool," Nieriel snarled vehemently. She usually was not prey to such shows of emotion, but she realized the depth of this situation even if others refused not to. "And we are fools if we think not to quell this insurgence."

"It is not that simple, Nee." Arwen said softly, her voice regaining its inflection. "This has grown beyond our measure. We need to formulate a plan, proceed with every caution."

"So let us bring Bilbo here, protect the Ring from those who would see it to Sauron, until we can devise a plan to destroy it."

She dared not voice the other option. To _take the Ring from Bilbo_ would invite great greed and evil into the tranquil halls of their home, and the effects, not only to Rivendell but also to Middle Earth, could be devastating. Because those wanting to do good with the power of the Ring would find themselves corrupt beyond all means, and nothing but strife and turmoil would abound.

"And bring the wrath of Sauron down upon our home?"

Nieriel frowned; she had not thought of that. "At least we are strong enough to combat his forces."

"Our kin sails for the Undying Lands; the time of the Elves is over. There are not enough of us to stand and fight."

"So why do we not go and destroy Sauron, once and for all? We know he lurks in Mordor; we still have a chance to see him obliterated."

"He has grown too great, accrued too many to his aide." Arwen looked at Nieriel then, her eyes suddenly full of fear. "War is coming."

* * *

_**AN:**_ So there it is! The first chapter! I know, I know, I took an extended hiatus, but it's here and I hope it was worth the wait! As always, I welcome any well-meaning, well-versed, constructive comments, questions, or concerns, so that being said hopefully I will hear from all of you bright-eyed, bushy-tailed creatures on what you think so far! It's going to be a doozy- I promise you that!

And for future reference, Nieriel is pronounced: Nee-air-ee-el.

Until next time, my lovelies!

_xox - ithilbereth_


	2. Chapter 2: The Catalyst

**Chapter Two: The Catalyst**

From the gloom he watched, calloused fingers wrapped around the hilt of his sword, not yet unsheathed but at the ready. His storm-grey eyes were used to the dark, trained to see through the shadows and deceit that darkness bore, and so he had no trouble watching, waiting for his prey. He sat silently, observing the comings and goings of those at the Prancing Pony, though the hour was late and there were but few. The hobbits snored behind him on their feather beds, not yet aware of the true danger in which they toiled. But they would know, and know soon.

He shifted in his seat ever so slightly, a noiseless movement. Sound could get one killed if they were less diligent than he. But his boots made no din, his tunic and breeches no rustle. His green cloak lay discarded on the bed set aside for him, though his scant belongings were packed and ready to be tied to saddle if the situation called for a hasty departure.

Which he was almost sure it would.

He turned his head then, a slight movement. His eyes narrowed and he peered through murky glass of the window with strident acuity. A chilling silence had fallen over Bree and simultaneously his nerve endings thrummed with energy. Even from his position, situated on the second floor of the inn, he felt the temperature of the air drop. Not a mouse dared to quiver, not a human risked to be seen. The goings-on of those still awake in the Prancing Pony faltered, feeling the fear and despair that suddenly gripped the atmosphere. He listened as feet began to scramble across wood planks below, heard whispered voices bid the candles and fires put out.

_There._

From the shadows they came. Cloaked heavily in black with long, gaping, faceless heads, riderless they were now though he knew from experience they preferred the stench of their hell beasts as their cohorts. They carried blades two-thirds the length of their bodies and glided across the road from whence they came, uncaring of who saw them. For there were none whom they feared, nor were there any who did not fall at their feet and beg for a mercy that would not be given. They had their own single-minded means to achieve, would stop at nothing to see it brought to fruition, their master served. Servants of Mordor, of Sauron himself, they were.

The Nine Ringwraiths.

_Nazgûl, _Strider thought, his eyes narrowing as he heard the door just two floors below him crash open to admit them entry.

He sat back in his chair and held his breath, listening to every creak of the floor, every step of their metal-booted feet. The hobbits had yet to wake and he envied them their sleep, because it was something he saw little of anymore. They questioned him little when he bid them rub themselves and their belongings with pine needles and fresh hay from the barn to mask their scent, though the looks they had continued to give him made him believe they thought he lost his mind.

_To be ignorant like they are, _he thought, not unkindly. He had always envied hobbits of their carefree nature, of their quick smiles and boisterous laughter. _To be innocent and blissful amongst the evil of this world._

He listened as the nazgûl took the stairs, and he shifted restlessly in his seat, glancing at his cloak and satchel. Should he wake the hobbits? Would the nazgûl fall for his trick? Could he really defend against all nine of them, if it came to it? _To run would have been folly… They would have caught us along the road… But will this prove to be any better?_

On the floor below him, in the very room where the hobbits once were, Strider listened as the door crashed open with a deafening _thwack_. Frodo startled awake, and his startlement awakened Samwise, and Strider motioned for them to be silent and still as he listened to the commotion on the floor below. The slicing of swords rent the air, waking the other two hobbits Peregrin and Meriadoc. With a single shake of his head Strider bid them quiet, and together they listened to the upturning and splintering of furniture, and then the shrill shriek of the infuriated nazgûl when they realized they had been slighted.

Strider looked from the pale faces of the hobbits to turn his gaze to the window once more, and his relief was great as he watched the Ringwraiths storm from the Prancing Pony in all their blackened fury. Their horses awaited them, having been called by their cry, and they stomped and bit and reared, feeling the dissent of their masters. With bated breath Strider watched as the Nine mounted, still screaming with rage, and then bled into the night on their beasts once more.

"Quickly."

Strider stood from his chair and grabbed his cloak and satchel, though the hobbits did not move, sat in open-mouthed shock on their beds. He knew they were still leery of him though the letter Gandalf had left Frodo said otherwise, and his annoyance got the better of him when he exclaimed, "Would you like to wait here until they come back?"

They exchanged looks with one another in unease, and Strider's aggravation intensified. "They will know you have not taken to the road once they scent there are no living things out there. We must make haste." _The myriad of scents in Bree threw them off, but not for long._

"Where will we go?" Pippin asked, his brown eyes wide with fear.

"Away from here." Strider replied, throwing his satchel over his shoulder and belting his sword at his waist. "Now make haste."

* * *

Strider hurried into the stables toting a torch, which he thrust at Sam so he could ready his horse, and then help with the ponies.

"Pippin, Merry, Frodo, see to the ponies." He barked at the other hobbits, who were looking at him with fear shining in their pale faces. "Sam, you follow me. Bring the torch."

"Where are we going?" Sam quipped, struggling to keep up with Strider's long gait as he searched the stalls for his borrowed mount. "Where are you taking us now? And in the middle of the night? Why can we not stay in Bree?"

"Because those Ringwraiths are after you, and you do not want to be caught by them, Samwise." Strider told him, whisking down the aisle of stalls in search of his horse. He frowned when on the first pass he did not find the steed, and briskly walked the length of the stalls once more with Sam trotting in his wake.

"They want the Ring, do they not? The trinket Frodo carries?"

"Yes." Strider replied, at the same moment Merry called, "We cannot find the ponies!"

And Strider could not find his horse. In fact, the stables were empty, save a pathetic looking pony and an elderly workhorse.

_They have loosed the horses._ Strider thought, working his jaw in his frustration. _They are not making this easy._

"There are no horses!" Sam cried, earning a stoic glare from Strider. "What do we do now?"

"Pack the pony with supplies. We must make haste from this place." Strider ordered, storming to the front of the stables, his mood dark.

"But you never told us where we are going!" Sam insisted, his round face muddled with his own irritation.

"We will head for Amon Sûl." Strider replied, helping the hobbits to load the pony with their packs. "We will come from the north, stay off the main road. It is where they will be looking."

"Amon Sûl? Old Weathertop, where the abandoned fortress is?" At Strider's nod he asked, "Will we be safe there?"

Strider paused in his swift movements to glance down at the hobbit. "I do not know." he said honestly, and watched as Sam and Frodo shared a look of dire concern. "But we cannot stay here. They will come back, Sam, and it will be chaos."

* * *

_Autumn_.

It was such a beautiful time of year; Nieriel's most favorite season. When the foliage turned from bright hues of green to burnt orange, deep crimson, or butterfly yellow. When the days were tepid and the nights were chilly enough that one could enjoy an open fire wrapped in a warm blanket. When the sun began to disappear a little sooner each day, and the moon stayed a little longer. When the wind blew not with bitter cold but with the scents of spice and leaves, coercing one to stop for a single moment and enjoy the tranquility. It was a moment she was indulging in now, her book forgotten in her lap as she tipped her face toward a ray of sun and basked in the glorious wonder of an autumn afternoon.

She and Arwen were passing the time as they did most afternoons: in their favorite gazebo that overlooked the city of Rivendell, enjoying the far-off melody of the waterfalls and the larks that called the valley home. This morning, like most mornings, they had tended with Elrond; they broke their fast and spoke about matters of Rivendell or the night before, if Nieriel and Arwen had gone scouting. Although Nieriel was in title only a handmaiden, neither Elrond nor Arwen treated her as such, and every morning Elrond would bid her sit instead of serve; Nieriel grumbled but acquiesced every time. The nobles asked her opinion on matters and conversed with her openly and warmly. At night, she and Arwen could usually be found by the hearth sipping wine when they were not scouting the countryside, ridding the land of orcs and uruk-hai.

It was true, Elrond often fondly remarked that Nieriel was his daughter in all ways except for blood, and there was not one person that held that against her; not even Arwen, for they were closer than sisters. Nieriel had been there when Arwen had been born, had helped raise her alongside Celebrían, and had not left her side since. They had played together as children, studied together as youths, learned how to ride, how to wield a sword, how to play the harp together. And throughout the years, Arwen never made Nieriel feel as though she were beneath her, though Nieriel had her own duties as a servant in the household that she attended to with diligence; it would not be said that the kindness she had been shown by Celebrían and Elrond had gone unappreciated.

Truly, it was only Nieriel's orphanage that separated her and Arwen in rank, for it was not unknown throughout the land that Elrond had found her before he had been wed to Celebrían and Nieriel had no family of which to speak; thus no one had the faintest inkling to what her heritage was. And so she had become part of Elrond's household out of the goodness of his heart, and it was there she had come to dwell in the years that followed. And she was happy with the life she had. She was well-fed, had a roof over her head, was surrounded by her closest companions who regarded her with affection, and never wanted for anything. Indeed, life could have been much worse.

It was a debt she would never be able to repay them.

Elrond had taken her in, healed her, brought her strength in her darkest hours. He had given her shelter and affection when the fates had played against her, and then allowed her to stay when no one came to claim her, and then even after he had his own children. In that he was more of a father to her than the one she had no memory of, and dear Celebrían, long departed from this land into the Undying ones in the west, was the only mother she had ever loved.

_How I miss her_, Nieriel thought sadly.

She sighed then, and glanced at Arwen, who was beginning to work on a new stitch. Nieriel returned her gaze to her book, already half devoured, entitled _The Queens of Noldor. _Their conversation was scant, something that bothered neither of them, and instead they basked in the peace of the day after a rather rigorous bout of scouting the night before.

The two had not revisited their conversation from the other day. It was not as if they were afraid of the topic, or scared of what the future may hold. No, these Elven maidens were proud, strong in their loyalty to their house and their land. Rather they were uncertain, and were biding their time to wait for the right information, for neither acted rashly or without consulting least of all one another, but first and foremost Elrond. As it was, Gollum was in the keeping of Thranduil, Bilbo had the Ring, Sauron lurked in Mordor, and there were no new developments. All was still for now, peaceful yet. Selfishly, secretly, the women wanted to revel in it, because they both knew the evil Arwen had spoken of was on the horizon, and both had seen enough battles to last a thousand lifetimes.

"I did not know that Finwë had two wives." Nieriel said passively, turning the page to reveal a picture of his second, Indis.

"His first, Míriel, also called Serindë, was skilled greatly in weaving and needlework." Arwen said, her eyes narrowed on her own work. "I could use her nimble fingers now." she mumbled, drawing a small chuckle from Nieriel.

"Why weave a loom when you can a sword? For what good is a needle going to do you when you have orcs knocking at your door?"

"And what good are books, hm?"

Startled, Nieriel jumped when her book was snatched from her fingers. She looked up and scowled as Elladan, son of Elrond, flipped the pages of her volume with eyes that accused of boredom. His brother, Elrohir, had taken a seat beside Arwen and grinned at his brother's teasing.

"Give that back." Nieriel demanded, making a swipe for her book. Elladan snatched it away, stopping to squint at one of the drawings.

"What are you reading now?" he drawled, glancing at her with mischief twinkling in his grey eyes. "Reading, reading, always reading. And if you are not reading you are fighting. And if you are not fighting you are brooding; always so stern! And if you are not brooding you are eating."

Nieriel scowled, her nostrils flaring and her jaw shifting. Elrohir laughed heartily while Arwen tried more delicately to hide her mirth. "_The Queens of Noldor; _which you would know if _you_ could read." She snatched at the book again, and was less successful in retrieving it this time than the last.

"I will have you know that father had us a fine tutor." Elladan said, a hand on his heart in mock hurt, as he looked up from rifling through the pages of the tome.

"The best in Middle Earth." Elrohir replied, earning an eye roll from Nieriel.

"You would not know it." Nieriel snapped, reaching for the book once more. But Elladan held it with both hands now, had cocked his head to one side, and was scrutinizing the pages.

"_The Queens of Noldor_? What are you, looking for your picture?"

The jest roused a laugh from Elrohir, but Nieriel withered ever-so-slightly. Elladan, attuned to her movements, relented and said, "I am sorry, Nee. I did not mean it like that."

"It is nothing." Nieriel said, taking the book from Elladan; this time, there was no struggle. It was not a topic that she liked to talk about, her mysterious lineage. The manner of her birth was a secret she would apparently take to her grave, for she had no recollection of her early years. Had her parents not _wanted_ to claim her? Did she truly have no family, no one that knew her? Had all her kin perished in the War of the Last Alliance, like so many others had?

_Had I secretly been searching for an answer? _She glanced down at the book, slender, calloused fingers tightening along the binding. _It has been hundreds of years. Millennia. You would think I would know better by now._

"Really, Nee, I am sorry. I know that it upsets you." Elladan implored, drawing the she-elf to shake her head.

"It is fine, really."

"Leave her alone, brother." Arwen interjected, glancing up from her needlework. "You have done enough damage."

"Perhaps she will forgive me and mend my wounded heart by acquiescing to lend me her presence?" Elladan offered his outstretched hand. "A walk, my lady?"

Nieriel promptly opened her book and ignored him.

"Do not be like that!"

"Go away, pest."

"Is that how a lady treats her admirer?"

"I am no lady, and you no more admire me than the next passing skirt."

Elladan scoffed. "Surely you have me confused with my brother."

"Since when do we have time to chase skirts?" Elrohir asked, raising a brow. "If you could tell me so I can pen it down, I would greatly appreciate it."

Nieriel scowled between one twin and the next, before returning her eyes to her book. Elladan waved a hand over her page, interrupting her concentration, and she huffed and turned angry green eyes back up to him.

_What a nuisance he can be! _He was handsome, yes, striking in his features; his bone structure was made to be sculpted in replica. He was tall and lithe, built well with muscle, with long, dark hair and the most breathtaking winter grey eyes. He was as careless and carefree as they came, with a smile to enthrall a goddess and a wit to drive a woman mad. _Which he is surely trying to do._

"Really, Elladan, you are being childish."

"And you are being petulant. Come, take a walk with me."

"No."

"I will not give you any peace until you say yes."

"Then you will come to supper one hand less than that of yesterday."

"You might as well go, Nee." Arwen interrupted, glancing up from her stitching once more. "He is right; you will get no peace."

Sighing loudly, Nieriel ignored Elladan's outstretched hand and stood, tucking her book protectively against her side, half hidden in the folds of her green maid's garb. Elladan grinned in victory, and together they disembarked from the gazebo, taking to a winding path that led down to the center of the valley.

Her ill temper dissipating as quickly as it had come, as it always did with Elladan, Nieriel pleasured in the leisure of twilight. The sun was making her descent upon the trees while the moon rose opposite, still pale in his early waking hours. Rivendell was settling down for the evening; women returned from the market, children finished up their chores, and men tied up their wares, preparing to return to a hearty hearth and a healthy meal. However, a few of the homes were empty, and more were emptying by the day. Many of the Elves were sailing for the West, to Aman to be with the rest of their kin. It was a place Nieriel had thought of from time to time, of going to in search of her family, but the thought of never again returning to Rivendell was not one that she had come to terms with yet, and so she remained.

_I have not killed enough orcs yet_, she thought, a heated stave of anger striking the cords of her heart. She felt the small hairs on her neck raise and her body thrummed with anticipation; there was little else in this world she loved more than killing orc. For she had much to repay them for almost taking her life. From what she had learned from Elrond, she had either wandered into the outer realms of Gondor or been brought a captive, and then beaten or tortured and left for dead. Her mind had been lost for a time; it was not a time she remembered. When she tried to think back on the memories, her body rebuked, throwing up a steadfast wall to block out the sorrow and grief as if it never happened. In turn, she could not remember her mother or father, if she had any family, or even from whence she came.

She was Elvish, at least half, of that much she was sure. She was built like the Elves, her build lean, tall, and honed from years of blade practice with Elrond's children and other cohorts. She moved with agility, was light of feet, and possessed extremely acute senses. She did not age quickly like Men, indeed it had slowed to keep her in the physical prime of her life; most Men assumed she had not yet reached the age of thirty.

She had long, dark, glittering hair of sable, which fell straight to her waist, though she usually kept the locks pulled back from her face. Her intelligent eyes sparkled like the stars the Elves adored, glowing forest green with her mirth, which was so few and far between her stoically austere character. Her face was oval-shaped, with a slightly pointed chin and high, delicate cheekbones that gave away to a pair of dainty, pointed ears. Her nose was long and slender, upturned ever so gently at the end, and gave way to a pair of arcing, stern dark brows. She had a scar that snarled her upper lip ever so slightly; it was one the one that had nearly cleaved her in her childhood. She had never fully healed from the gash no matter what Elrond had tried, and it ran the length of her face, from her temple to her lip. Her bottom lip was fuller than the top, an attribute she hated, as well as her feline eyes. But then again she did not look in the mirror much. She was not some frivolous lady who fretted over her looks, the color of her gowns, the way her hair fell that day. She was strong, a woman of power and intellect, of independence and unwavering loyalty to those and that which she loved most.

This did include the twin sons of Elrond, no matter how vexing they were. She had seen them born, after all; they were like her little brothers. She had kissed their scrapes and bruises and read them stories at bedtime when they were little, and then rode with them to scout lands, encountering enemies and battling together as they grew older. They too were her greatest of friends, knew her every in and out, just as she did theirs.

"Are you going to remain mute for another one hundred years or are you going to talk to me?" Elladan tried to jest, but it was yet another poor one.

After Elrond had found her, Nieriel had remained silent for one hundred years. She did not know why, could not explain it though she had tried many times. It was a part of her past that remained shrouded in mystery, and the reminder of such caused Elladan to be receiving of another glare.

"You do not know when to stop, do you?" she asked rhetorically, though, of course, the witty and endearingly dense Elladan retorted anyway.

"I only want to see you smile, Nee. You are so stern all the time."

"There is nothing wrong with being serious." she replied, only slightly put-off. It was not the first time Elladan would tease her and would most certainly not be the last. However she was not cowed by his imposing height, for he was much taller than she, or his dashing countenance, which the other Elven maids liked to tinkle about during their chores; she gave him his wit straight back.

She looked at him then, from beneath ebony lashes, with a raised brow. "You make enough jests for the both of us, as it is."

They traversed the path easily, for it was one they took often, winding down the road through Rivendell. There were few about, and those that saw them greeted them warmly, smiling at her and bowing slightly toward Elladan.

"I presume you just returned home." Nieriel said, her hands clasping her book before her, her gown rustling with her movements. It was a soothing celadon velvet, with sleeves that laid close to her arms and wrists, and boasted of a simple silver bodice. "How was Nîn-in-Eilph?"

"Rather unbothered, as usual. Those that do not know the area well usually end up drowning in the hidden streams and marshes. We did not come across many enemies." Elladan replied.

"I daresay any that came across you, Elrohir, and Glorfindel would not stand a chance." Nieriel said, causing Elladan to glow with pride.

"It was mostly just me, really. Elrohir and Glorfindel watched as I did all the fighting." Elladan said, and Nieriel looked up at him with great skepticism.

"I am sure we will hear differently at supper."

Elladan laughed, his long, dark hair rippling in the breeze. "What does that pretty golden flower know anyway?" he said, poking fun at Glorfindel's antiquated title as Lord of the House of the Golden Flower.

"I'm sure you would not be saying as such if you were to meet him across a battlefield." Nieriel replied, a slight smile taking her features. She had sparred with Glorfindel a time or two, had seen him fight in battle, and he did not get his reputation as one of the mightiest Elves of Middle Earth for no reason.

"Tell me though," Nieriel continued, changing the subject to one that had plagued her since her conversation with Arwen. "What think you of this so-called Ring War?"

Elladan bowed his head, his hands clasped behind him. His warrior's braids hung long from his temples to brush his shimmering grey tunic, emblazoned with silver embroidery, and his black leather boots barely made a sound as they walked the cobbled stone. His black breeches were clean, boasting that he had washed and changed since returning from their journey on which he, his brother, and their good friend Glorfindel had spent a fortnight scouting Nîn-in-Eilph and its surrounding lands.

"There is nothing 'so-called' about it." Elladan began, his grey eyes usually mirthful now turned serious, his voice deepening from his strong tenor in his concern. "Gondor is under constant attack, lying so close to Mordor. Faramir and Boromir barely have a hold on Osgiliath, and Ithilien has long been overrun. We have seen the number of enemies multiply exponentially, even coming so far as our lands. But you know this. Why do you think it a trivial matter?"

"I do not," Nieriel countered, her own brow marred with her concern. "I just do not know what to think."

"Sauron was before our time, but Father says there is no evil that even comes close to rival his own. And we are sitting back and biding our time while he is making a play for Middle Earth. There is no White Council to rule over the shadow like in times past, and there are many whisperings without a lot of action." Elladan sounded just as annoyed as she had when speaking with Arwen, and she was fond of his warrior's spirit because it so matched her own. "Not even father knows what to do."

"You have spoken to Elrond about this?"

Elladan nodded. "The Elves grow restless. He has been in correspondence with Gandalf, and though the Grey Wizard is reticent, he has hinted that he knows much. Father has met with Celeborn and Galadriel, and they too know there is danger on the horizon. We have not heard from Thranduil, know not how Mirkwood fares. The attacks on Men in the south have not gone unnoticed, and though they do not ask for aide we have ridden there a time or two, have seen the destruction wrought by the enemy."

"I do not understand why we have not quelled Sauron before this." Nieriel insisted vehemently. "We could have sent him to his ruin before any of it had come to this."

"We did not know he had accrued so much power." Elladan replied. "He had been lying in secrecy for so long, and just these past months he has decided to test that new power.

Nieriel felt a pang of dread thud in time with her heart. "And now it is too late."

* * *

Later that evening, after the sun had fully set and the moon had risen, the stars glittered down at those in the dell as Arwen and Nieriel prepared for bed. Indeed supper had been a boisterous event; all reveled when Elladan and Elrohir arrived home. They always returned with boastful stories and brought laughter into the household, and Glorfindel was a welcome addition as well. Nieriel enjoyed watching their antics, for their mirth brought great delight to Elrond, who so seldom smiled after Celebrían had departed for Aman.

"I do not know which brother of mine is more prideful." Arwen remarked as Nieriel brushed out her beautiful, russet hair. "It is a wonder their large heads do not get in the way of them when they are in the midst of fighting."

Nieriel chuckled low, her own hair lying in a shining wave of sable down her back. She was dressed in her chemise and night-robe and boasted of bare feet, for her chambers adorned Arwen's and she did not have to travel far to her bed. Thankfully this evening they had decided to reprieve from their scouting, and she would be able to slumber in her own bed instead of riding the fields surrounding Rivendell.

"Where do you see yourself a year from now, Nee?"

Nieriel looked at Arwen through the mirror, a questioning mar to her brow as her ministrations ceased ever so slightly. "That is an odd question. What made you ask?"

"All this increased talk of the Ring and a war… It makes me ponder the future and what it holds."

Nieriel slowly resumed her task, her eyes downcast as her thoughts developed. "I suppose it depends on the fate of Middle Earth."

"Do you see yourself becoming a part of war, if it is to come to that?"

Nieriel glanced up at Arwen. "What you choose to do, I will stand by you."

Arwen grew silent then, and for a time became lost to her own thoughts, her grey eyes vacant as she peered into her reflection. Nieriel broke her reverie when she asked, "And what will you choose to do?"

Arwen smiled softly, and Nieriel thought it was a sad gesture. "I am not a great warrior such as you. I have no desire to be an asset in whatever this may come to be, and I will not fault you if your heart guides you elsewhere; I know the retribution you seek."

_I owe them much yet_. It was no secret, her hatred of the Shadow. However Nieriel's first and foremost loyalty was to Arwen, without a doubt or second thought. "I will not leave your side."

"But you have such skill! I have seen few wield double blades better than you do."

"It is not up for discussion, Arwen." Nieriel set the brush aside on a small table by the hearth as Arwen swept up from the stool from where she sat. "My loyalty resides with you."

Arwen sighed heavily and glided toward her four-poster bed, which laid beneath a window overlooking the gardens behind the Main House. Adorned with linen of deep, shimmering indigo and pillows of the finest satin, the lady fell onto the piece, her night robe falling in forest green ripples about her frame. Nieriel began to straighten up the pieces on Arwen's vanity before stoking the hearth once more, and then drifting over the wooden floors to pull shut the doors leading to her balcony.

"What if it does not come to war? What if we quell this force? Will you sail for the Undying Lands?" Arwen asked her, propping her head up in one elegant hand, while her other rearranged her robes. "You take little time for yourself, Nee, rarely do anything that brings you pleasure. You know father and I would not hold it against you if you did not work so hard. And I do not believe I have ever known you to have a _companion_. Unless, of course, you are better at keeping secrets than I thought."

Nieriel looked at Arwen with a raised brow, and the Elven lady laughed richly, her grey eyes sparkling in her mischief.

"I have things more important than that to focus on. Besides, I take time to read."

"And you have never dreamed of romance, like those you have read about? What if you find a great love here on Middle Earth? Will you sail for Aman then?"

Nieriel snorted. _Romance. _"I have nothing to offer anyone, Arwen. I am no one." _A simple maid, without title, lineage, or heritage. _"Though I will admit I have thought little of sailing to Aman. Rivendell has been the only home I have ever known; it would be hard to part from here."

Arwen sat up and frowned delicately at her friend, watching as she moved from window to window to draw the shutters. Nieriel knew without looking that Arwen harbored pity; though her friend did not mean to belittle her with such, it was in Arwen's nature to be so compassionate.

"You are someone to me." Arwen said gently then, reaching out to still Nieriel in her task.

Nieriel ceased, her heart softening as she met the kind gaze of her friend. Arwen smiled and squeezed her arm as she said, "Who would I share my deepest desires with, my most whimsical of fantasies with, if not for you? Who would soothe me when I am sad and rejoice with me when I am happy? You are my dearest friend; you will always mean something to me, even without all the frivolous titles."

Nieriel felt emotion pull at her heartstrings; there was little in the world that meant much to her, yet Arwen was one of them. She would lay down her life for her without question or hesitation and knew the lady would do the same. The shared a bond that transcended that of family or friend.

But Nieriel was not very good with words of sentiment, and Arwen knew as such. They shared a simple smile, one that spoke volumes for their sisterhood, and Nieriel went about her task as she said, "Tell me of your Strider. Have you heard from him lately?"

"I have not." Arwen said, her voice softening in her sorrow. "The last letter I received from him he was in the Shire, though for what he did not say; that was over a fortnight ago."

"I wonder what has kept him from writing?" Nieriel commented, pulling the last of the shutters closed.

Arwen sighed, settling back into the pillows on her bed. "I wonder indeed."


	3. Chapter 3: Set in Motion

**Chapter Three: Set in Motion**

The sun was bold and shining, a golden orb high over the fields of Rhudaur. There were no clouds to mar the sky, no birds in flight on this glorious, late afternoon. A soothing autumn breeze rippled the tall, yellow grass, caressed the rocky crags, and tickled the many trees dotting the plains. The temperature was mild and the air hinted rain, perhaps an autumn storm.

The screech of dying orcs made the day all the more perfect.

Nieriel could do without the thundering of the troll, though.

She and Arwen had been out riding and had come across the pack of twenty orcs leading a troll down from the Trollshaws. They had caught the pack off guard, but it hadn't taken long for the orcs to take notice of who Arwen was, and then Nieriel, and then react with complete and utter loathing. They wasted no time in loosing the troll, and bedlam had broken out.

Nieriel could not have been more elated.

The lumbering beast was roaring after her now, though he was no match for her atop Stormwind. She weaved through the orcs, cutting a path with her twin blades, while Arwen battled three atop her own mount, the mare to her steed, Moonglow. Nieriel did not worry for her; she knew Arwen was warrior enough to fight three measly orcs.

The troll was dragging his chains behind him, stumbling around and crashing into the orcs, his thick, filthy arms thrashing about as he ran. Spotting an outcropping up ahead, Nieriel pushed Stormwind faster still, laying low on his neck as she tucked her blades close. _A timely death he shall meet. _An orc ran at her from the right and she kicked the vile creature, but another on her left managed to swipe her thigh with his sword. _Damn! _She grimaced but kept on, glancing down at the cut to see it bleeding an angry scarlet trail down her breeches. The troll bellowed, reminding her that she was the hunted in this moment, and she looked back up in enough time to refocus on her destination and formulate a plan.

She slowed considerably, and Stormwind almost reared in denial. It gave the troll the time it needed to catch up, and Nieriel laughed as she ducked to avoid his grubby hands. Stormwind screeched, wanting to burst out of the canter Nieriel kept him in, but they were moving closer, closer, closer to the outcropping of rocks she knew led to a short drop that ended in a jagged pit of rocks at the bottom.

"_Noro lim, _Stormwind!" she gasped, breathless in her thrill. The horse whinnied, tossing his mighty head, before he leapt forward out of his canter and into a swift gallop. Nieriel waited, with baited breath and a fiery passion in her eyes, until the perfect moment when she jerked the reins to her destrier hard to the right.

The steed whipped in that direction, cutting quickly through the tall grass, and with a roar of defiance and sheer torture, the troll fumbled over the edge of the crag, unable to control his momentum. Nieriel pulled Stormwind to a stop to watch the troll fall, before landing with a sickening crack among the rocks.

_Arwen will surely be jealous of that one._

"Heya!" She dug her heels into Stormwind, and they sped back toward the battle.

Nieriel searched for Arwen and saw her in a flash of indigo, slicing her sword this way and that as she took down orc after orc; none got close enough to touch her. Nieriel grinned, a true, radiant grin, before she let out a cry and Stormwind leapt back into the fray, trampling an orc in the process. The creature's dying grunt was lost in the _sching _of her blades arcing into the air as Nieriel swept into the thick of the pack, bent low on the saddle as she swung to take an enemy's head. A flurry of arrows pinged uselessly against her mithril, she ducked the blow of swords with ease, and guided her horse with her knees through the chaos as she whipped her blades with skilled wrists.

"Arwen!" She called, raising her arm high to toss her weapon. Arwen glanced up, her sword stuck in the belly of an orc, and forwent her own blade in just enough time to catch Nieriel's shorter one and use it to kill an orc to her left. In a maneuver that was more of a blur than anything, Arwen tossed the blade the twenty paces to Nieriel as she raced by on her mount, slicing and trampling orcs as she went.

The two had been battling together since the moment Arwen could hold a blade. They knew how each other worked, could anticipate a move before it was even a thought, and worked together in deadly, graceful tandem.

_The thrill of the kill_. Nieriel loved nothing more.

Twenty orcs had dwindled to fifteen, and that number was fading fast as well. Stormwind snarled and barreled over orcs while Nieriel finished them off with her blades, and in only a handful of heartbeats the fifteen had dwindled to ten. The orcs made it easy; they ran at her! _Stupid beasts_, Nieriel thought, taking the head of another with her now blood-drenched blades. Needing to feel closer contact, to get the blood on her hands, she leapt from the saddle with her knives in her clutches. Stormwind ran loose, though she knew he would not stray far, as she landed lightly on her feet to the ground. She came out of her crouch in a whirl of flashing steel, and the two orcs that rushed her lunged back with screeches to avoid her offense.

The larger of the two dove to take her down, and Nieriel swept to the side and arced her blade in her place. She split him belly to chin, his useless, leather armor gaping wide, and she kicked him away as the other rushed her with his bludgeon held high. She turned with her dagger in the air trailing blood, however the orc fell at her feet not three paces from her, a throwing knife sticking from the back of his skull.

With a scowl, Nieriel knelt to retrieve the small stiletto and wipe it on the grass before she rose to meet the smirking countenance of Arwen.

"I had him." she said, her tone relaying her annoyance.

The lines at the corners of Arwen's lips darkened as her smirk deepened. "I know." she said, raising a brow as she took back her blade with a gloved hand. "That was for the troll."

Nieriel's own lips twitched before a smile broke out on her features, and she laughed; a rarity, except in the presence of Arwen.

She sheathed her blades in the holsters crossed behind her back and turned to assess the damage. Aside from a few morbid twitches, one or two dying groans, it was a healthy battlefield and the women surveyed their work with pride.

"We could have been a little neater." Arwen remarked, sheathing her sword Hadhafang.

"At least it will be a warning to those who think to encroach on our lands." Nieriel replied, and Arwen nodded her agreement. "However, what shall we do about the troll?"

Arwen smiled then, a languorous maneuver that curled her dusky rose lips in the semblance of wickedness. "The troll we saw lumbering around the gorge?"

Nieriel narrowed her eyes, slow to come to Arwen's meaning, but when she did she almost laughed again. "The one we are to warn Elladan and Elrohir about?"

"The one they will ride out to find, thinking to boast to us their kill?"

"How disappointed they will be when they find it has already been taken care of."

The women tinkled with laughter, before Arwen said, "Come, let us be home. Moonglow!"

Nieriel whistled for Stormwind, and the great dapple-grey beast trotted over from a nearby tuft of grass. Nieriel caught his reins with one hand and dug out a handful of sugar with her other from her small sporran. She flattened her palm and held out the delight, stroking his nose and murmuring affection and praise for his prowess. The two had an extensive history, for Nieriel had raised him since he was a colt, and they had shared many adventures and battles since. She attended to him most diligently, seeing to his exercises, his care, and his breeding almost exclusively, and he repaid her in turn by being a loyal and affectionate mount. He was one of her most prized possessions, a gift from Elrond, and one of the swiftest horses in Middle Earth. Even's Arwen's Moonglow was not so fleet of foot, and the mare was said to be a distant descendent of the legendary Mearas. It was hard to deny, with her shining ivory coat, wise, blue eyes, and the uncanny ability the mare had at learning something new rather quickly.

"You were showing off rather outrageously." Arwen told her, mounting Moonglow. "Leaping from your horse and throwing your blades mid-gallop."

"I had to liven it up a bit; watching you fight was putting me to sleep." Nieriel replied, pulling herself up to saddle.

"Sleep!" Arwen sounded completely and utterly dejected, and Nieriel fought a laugh as she turned Stormwind toward Rivendell. "Those types of stunts in the middle of battle are foolhardy. In any case, who are you trying to impress all the way out here?"

Nieriel snorted, for she knew Arwen to be goading her, teasing lightly in the way they had become accustomed to over the years. Nieriel shot Arwen a look of smugness as she said, "You sound positively aggrieved, my lady. Almost as if you wish you had my skill."

"Nonsense." Arwen scoffed. "If I did not have you who else would I outshine on a daily basis?"

Nieriel truly did laugh then. "Arwen, surely you do not mean what I think you mean."

Arwen threw her a smirk, a devilishly curling one. "I could outrun you in the middle of a blizzard, blindfolded, with my arms tied behind my back."

Nieriel gripped her reins in anticipation, her own grin unfurling on her features. "You forget who taught you to ride, _neth pîn._"

* * *

Nieriel won by an entire length, as she usually did. They galloped over the Rivendell Bridge that spanned the Bruinen and into the courtyard, Nieriel laughing and Arwen somber in her defeat.

"What was it that you were saying?" Nieriel asked rather delightedly as she swung down from Stormwind gracefully, patting his rump affectionately. "Something about a blizzard and blindfolded? Perhaps that is to be your prize for losing?"

"Witch." Arwen seethed, and Nieriel laughed heartily as two stablehands ran forth to walk their mounts, and then ready them for stable.

"Let me guess," drawled a voice. "Nieriel bested you once again?"

Nieriel turned at the regal voice and watched as the golden-haired Glorfindel descended the stairs to the Main House, Elladan and Elrohir in his wake. Glorfindel was of the

Noldor, the proudest of the race of Elves, and was revered far and wide for his power and longevity. For over six thousand years he reigned as a lord of one of the fallen houses of Gondolin, but he was more commonly and presently known as the mightiest Elf on Middle Earth. Tall, broad of chest and shoulder, with the chiseled face of a young god and long, shimmering golden hair he stood proud and mirthful before them. His eyes were a piercing ice blue and their depths held more knowledge than anyone knew, for they had seen much in his long lifetime. He held much joy about him, reckless and juvenile at times, but stern and wise more so. He fought with fervent courage, for he feared nothing, and would forever remain one of the strongest males Nieriel had ever met.

Nieriel did not stay her more-than-pleased countenance, grinning widely at the newcomers. "How ever did you guess, Lord Glorfindel?" she exclaimed in mock amazement as she dipped into a flourishing bow, causing Arwen to scowl rather unbecomingly.

Glorfindel paused just before them, a brow raised and his lips upturned. "Just a presumption. Is it a correct one, Lady Arwen?"

Arwen did not reply, drawing a laugh from all of them except she.

"All jesting aside," Nieriel said, once the levity had dimmed. She noticed the males were donned to ride in leather armor, and were toting their respective weapons. "We were riding home and in the distance saw a troll. We did not know if there were any other creatures with him, but we saw him coming south, from the Ettenmoors."

Arwen sobered in mock consternation, though it was hard to keep the jest a secret between the two, and her lips almost twitched in a smile. "We did not want to engage him since it was only the two of us."

"From the Ettenmoors you say?" Glorfindel asked, his smooth baritone deep with concern. He shared a glance with Elladan and Elrohir and said, "I can ride with you there before I head west."

"West?" Arwen questioned. "What is there?"

"Your father has asked a favor of me, nothing more." Glorfindel said, leading the women to believe there was indeed something more. They refrained from looking at one another in inquiry, for they would speak privately later as they always did.

"You did not have much of a reprieve." Arwen noted of Glorfindel, and the ethereally handsome male smiled. Nieriel thought him stunning in the way that Elves were, but did not pine for him as some other maidens did. She did not have time for such frivolities.

"Duty calls, my lady."

"We will see if we can find this troll." Elladan said loudly, and Nieriel thought his chest bowed with arrogance. With a nod of agreement from Elrohir, Nieriel barely contained her smile, just checked her wicked glance to Arwen. "And dispose of him and whatever filth he brings."

"Why are you so soiled?" Elrohir asked suddenly, oddly looking over his sister and Nieriel. Nieriel looked down at herself and then at Arwen to find that her breeches of worn, brown leather, tunic of blue, and cloak of grey was thoroughly filthy. Her boots were the worst of the lot, stained and caked with mud and, Nieriel noticed belatedly, a bit of orc gore. "You are speckled with blood, and muddied from the waist down."

The women could not help to glance at one another. _Oops. _It was Nieriel who said, "We came across a small pack of orcs."

Elladan and Elrohir shared a look of disgruntled surprise, and the women knew what was coming. Before they were questioned further Arwen said, "Thank you, brother, for endeavoring to keep our homeland free of our enemies. Ride swift, and stay safe."

After a nod from each of the males, and only a lingering look of skepticism from Elladan, they headed off to the stables to ready their mounts.

"Let us go find father and see if he will tell us where he sent Glorfindel." Arwen said and together, still dressed in their riding gear and tinkling laughter at their horrible antics against Elladan, Elrohir, and inadvertently but all the more humorously Glorfindel, they ascended the stairs to the Main House in search of Elrond.

They found the elf-lord in the gardens beyond the House, walking and speaking with his advisors. His bronze tunic and breeches shimmered in the low light of the sun, his brown hair pulled back from his face with a leather queue. His head was bowed and his hands were clasped behind his back, and he looked to be deep in thought as his tall, leather boots glided along the cobbled walk. However once he sighted his daughter and Nieriel, he sent the males away and greeted the women warmly, though raised a brow at their sullied attire.

"Do I even want to know?"

"We came across some orcs." Arwen answered, earning herself a stern look from her father.

"And a troll." Nieriel said quite proudly, and in turn Elrond raised his other brow, before his eyes narrowed in displeasure.

"I have asked you not to engage—"

"More than we can handle." Arwen finished for him, causing Elrond to cast a look of irritation in her direction. She smiled as if she saw no such annoyance and continued, "And we handled them all exceptionally well, if I do say so myself. Besides, Nieriel was not kind enough to share the troll."

Elrond cast his look at her then. "You took the troll down on your own?"

"They are stupid creatures, really; it was no challenge." Nieriel tried to dissipate the look of fury suddenly darkening Elrond's features, but her words seemed to make him even angrier.

"Your first mistake was not retreating when you should have. Your second mistake was underestimating a troll. Of limited intellect they may be, but that makes them no less dangerous. You know better, Nieriel." Elrond told her.

Nieriel did not take words of chastisement from anyone. She was a strong, independent female who had overcome many obstacles in her years. However, she had long respected Elrond, and though his words were scolding she knew he spoke out of affection for her.

Sheepishly, she bowed slightly in the face of his wrath. "You are right, Lord Elrond."

"You needlessly put yourself at risk, Nieriel."

Nieriel straightened and her gaze grew hard; she met Elrond's eyes without fear or remorse as she uttered, "I have not worked so hard as to become a victim to the hands of anyone, least of all an orc. I care not much of what happens to myself if it were to mean there were less of their filth in the world."

_The servants of Mordor have taken much from me: my heritage, friends and people I would call kin, my dear Celebrían…_

"Do not speak such." Elrond said, motioning for the two to follow him. "Come, walk with me. We have much to discuss."

"Such as where you sent Glorfindel?" Arwen interjected sweetly, falling into stride on Elrond's left. Nieriel took to his other sider, folding her hands behind her as they walked.

"Among other things." Elrond's face smoothed into a smile at his endearingly clever daughter. "I sent Glorfindel to search for the Ring-bearer."

"Bilbo Baggins? But he resides in the Shire; why must you search for him?"

"Bilbo is no longer in possession of the Ring; it has fallen into the hands of his nephew Frodo, who has gone missing."

Startled by the news, Nieriel shared a look of grave concern with Arwen before turning her eyes to Elrond.

"Elladan and Elrohir ride out to look for him as well. Aragorn has been watching the Shire to keep an eye on Frodo as of late, but I have not heard from him for weeks. I am concerned, because Black Riders have been spotted as far west as Tharbad. They have learned from the creature Gollum that The Ring was being kept by Bilbo at the Shire. This puts Bilbo and Frodo in great danger."

"Black Riders." Nieriel whispered, her eyes falling to the path on which she tread as her thoughts overtook her. _Nazgûl. How I despise nazgûl._

"I have not heard from Aragorn either." Arwen replied, and Nieriel, hearing the forlornness of her voice, glanced up to catch Arwen withering ever-so-slightly, her celestial grey eyes falling to the sun-kissed cobbled path on which they walked. "I was hoping you had been in contact with him."

_She loves him so, _Nieriel thought. _I do not know how she stands to be away from him, wondering where he is or if he is even alive._

"I have sent word for his presence here, as well as those from the last noble houses of Middle Earth. It is far time we have dealt with The Shadow." Elrond replied, drawing a second startled look from Nieriel.

Arwen looked up in surprise, her grey eyes wide as she looked at her father. "You are to be at the forefront of this?"

"I have designed a council." Elrond replied, his voice hard. "Nothing more."

"Who is to be on this council? What exactly will it accomplish?" Nieriel asked.

"I will head it, and in attendance will be Gandalf the Wise, the Ring-bearer Frodo, and Bilbo Baggins if he can be found, because that hobbit has mysteriously gone missing as well. Glorfindel and Elladan and Elrohir on their return will be there. Of course Erestor and the rest of my advisors will attend, as well as Aragorn, as I have mentioned. I have sent emissaries to Gondor, the dwarves in the Blue Mountains, and Thranduil of Mirkwood."

Nieriel had noticed a subtle brightening of her eyes at the mention of Strider, but Arwen's voice was steady when she asked, "What of Galadriel and Celeborn?"

"They will reside in Lothlórien for now." Elrond said, before returning to Nieriel's other question. "The council will meet here and will be established to figure out what to do with the Ring. It must be destroyed. Its evil here on Middle Earth has outstayed its welcome."

"And what does Saruman think of this?" Nieriel all but spat; she had met the wizard a time or two and thought little of him. He was wise, yes, but something about him made her believe that he had a core of pure evil inside of him; he made her skin crawl.

"It matters naught what Saruman thinks." Elrond said, and his tone of vehemence drew Nieriel aback. She looked at Arwen before Elrond continued, "He has long been tainted by the evil of Sauron."

"What?" Arwen breathed as Nieriel's eyes flew wide. "The White Wizard?"

"How do you know of this?"

"Much has transpired as of late; another reason for the council. Those of Middle Earth need to be warned, so they can prepare." Elrond sounded as ominous as he did dreadful; there was little hope in his tone.

Nieriel, on the other hand, could barely contain her anger. "Do you not think it is too late, Lord Elrond? For so long we have stood by and watched as Sauron collected power, and now he has the wizard Saruman to his side? Orcs, trolls, goblins, nazgûl… The list draws on! We are not only in danger, we are waiting to be overpowered and handed to Sauron on a silver platter!"

"Nieriel…"

"Nee, you know it is not so simple. We spoke as much the other night." Arwen told her softly, calming her voice to the antithesis of Nieriel's heated one.

"But it _is _that simple; or at least it was. Now we must scrounge together an army to face an ancient evil, bringing with him foes of which Middle Earth has never seen."

"We thought the Ring was in safe keeping, Nieriel. No one ever planned for it to be uncovered." Elrond told her, and Nieriel pursed her lips together tightly to keep from lashing out once more; she was close to Elrond, but even she knew her bounds. "You do not remember the wrath of Sauron, but it is not something you want firsthand knowledge of. I will do everything in my power to make sure he does not get his hands on the Ring again.

"This is the beginning. If we are to overcome this evil, and we will, we need to work together, and the first step of that is calling this council. We will meet in a week's time. Have care, Nieriel. I know it is not one of your strong suits, but be patient."

Elrond's last words earned him a glare, and the lord smiled fondly at Nieriel before he turned his gaze to his daughter.

"I would have you be more thoughtful the next time you are out scouting. You know I do not mind it, nor do I discount your abilities; I merely worry for your safety." He looked back at Nieriel then, and she bowed her head to respect his words. "I would see them from this earth as much as you would."

_Celebrían._ Elrond mourned her loss more than anyone.

"We came across no more than twenty orcs today, and they were leading a troll down from the Ettenmoors, or so we suspect." Arwen told her father, and Elrond frowned deeply.

"But it is light out, with no clouds. And you were in the fields of Rhudaur, were you not?"

"Above the Trollshaws, yes." Arwen replied, to which Elrond's frowned deepened more so.

Nieriel watched his expressions, she herself coming to a slow realization: trolls could not stand to be under the eyes of the sun.

However, there was one race that could.

And the notion did not bode well.

"Olog-hai." Nieriel said. "They populate Mirkwood and Mordor. Rivendell is too far north for them to be."

Elrond's jaw shifted with his own discomfort, and his grey eyes pierced her as he said, "Stay vigilant. Our enemy is everywhere."

* * *

That night, Arwen and Nieriel sat before a hearth in one of the drawing rooms of the east wing of the Main House. The room overlooked the gardens she had walked through earlier in the day from two, wide windows with the hearth centered between. On the east wall the windows overlooked the Bruinen, and on the west wall hung tapestries depicting the seasons, interspersed with tall shelves of books. There was a small writing table by the far window and two chairs before the hearth, the chairs in which she and Arwen now sat. Nieriel was dressed in her maid's garb and Arwen a clean gown of silver, and they were sipping wine and watching the flames while listening to a soothing deluge of rain outside. Nieriel loved the sound of rain; it was soothing in a way that it calmed her soul, steadied her bones. Coupled with the scent of the logs on the fire, the fine tinge of red wine on her tongue, and the company of Arwen, Nieriel was the closest to peace she could get.

"What do you think will become of us?" Arwen asked, and Nieriel knew she asked of their fate in this new dawn of the Ring. "Father did not say we are to attend the council."

"Though I am sure you will find a way around that." Nieriel inserted with a snort, to which Arwen laughed.

"I am eager to hear of what they decide to do. I think I should like to be a part of it."

"I thought you said you did not want to fight?"

Arwen shrugged gently, sipping her wine. "Maybe not to fight, but in another way I would like to prove useful."

"You do not see yourself retiring to the Undying Lands?" Nieriel knew it was what her father so wished, though he and everyone else knew Arwen's heart lay elsewhere.

"I could not leave these lands without him." Arwen said, her voice soft as she gazed into the flames, as she thought of her beloved.

Nieriel watched Arwen then, and her face softened as her heart wilted for her dearest friend. She knew of the love Arwen and Aragorn shared for one another; Nieriel had been there when they first met, and it indeed had been a tale of love at first sight…at least for Aragorn. It had taken years for Arwen to soften, but when she had, Nieriel had spent countless nights listening to Arwen talk of her fascination and adoration of the man. But Elrond had forbade them from marrying until Aragorn could claim he was the King of both Arnor and Gondor, a feat Nieriel knew not how he was to accomplish. Nieriel knew Aragorn was the heir of Isildur, but he had not yet claimed his heritage and Arwen had confided in her that she thought he never would.

They were good friends, she and Aragorn, and Nieriel had urged him to claim his rights many times, but he remained steadfast in his negation. And he would not impart unto either of them his reasons why he would not claim his due and thus remained the ranger Strider.

In that was Arwen's conundrum: she loved Aragorn and refused to be parted from him, but if she chose to give up her immortality for him and stay in Middle Earth, she would give up her family, most of all her father who loved her with his whole heart.

_I will never know such love, _Nieriel thought, turning her gaze to the fire as well. _Though it does not bother me; that is not what I was put on this earth for. _Her chest felt tight, and her throat burned with an emotion she could not name, but she swallowed the bitter acidity of what she believed was truth without a single thought more.

Suddenly, and with a great, loud bashing noise, the door to the parlor the women were in crashed open and Elrohir and Elladan stormed into the room, both talking at once.

"Saw a troll in the distance—"

"My _foot_ you did not know if there were—"

"—and you just _had_ to make your acquaintance, did you not? No, do not—"

"—any other creatures out there!"

"—deny it, Nieriel; I know your handiwork and—"

"Did not want to engage? I do not know your definition of engaging, sister, but you looked engaged up to your neck in orcs and blood!"

"—you two _lied_ to us!" Elladan finished.

Arwen was laughing behind her hand, but Nieriel openly grinned and said, "I see you found our gift."

"Gift! What ailed you both to take on _twenty _orcs and an olog-hai?" Elrohir was positively aghast, staring at one woman and then the other.

"Rather ungrateful, are they not?" Arwen asked Nieriel, who took a sip of her wine to keep herself from laughing at the mud-covered, rain-soaked, infuriated twins.

"Just jealous they could not claim the feat for their own." Nieriel said, her words making Elladan positively livid while Elrohir gaped at her in shock.

"When father finds out about—"

"Oh, do not try that." Arwen waved a negligent hand at her brother. "He already knows."

"One day," Elrohir seethed, and Nieriel let out a laugh at his smoldering tone. "You will not be so lucky to escape unscathed."

Arwen rolled her eyes rather inelegantly at her brother's bluster. "Who shall we gentle and sheltered maids call upon for aid, Elrohir? You and Elladan?"

"Perhaps they mean to be our knights in shining armor." Nieriel supplied chirpily, drawing glares from the twins. She raked them with a mocking sneer, her eyes alight with laughter at their drenched clothes, muddied boots, and dripping faces. "Though I see none here."

* * *

He watched his father pace his tiered dais before his great throne carved of ash, green robes billowing, long, pale hair rippling with his angry stride. The Elvenking's Halls echoed only with his angry footfalls, for not a soul in attendance dared to breathe. They would not tempt his ire further, because already Thranduil was livid. Legolas shifted restlessly, for he was just as furious as his father.

"How many." The ice in Thranduil's tone bled through his eyes, piercing the second to his captain, a male who knew better than to tremble in his presence but could not help it.

"We lost seventeen, sire." The male replied, and Legolas stiffened.

_Seventeen_. The numbers grew every day. Whether it was against orcs, those vile spiders, or a stray troll, they were losing more of their kin than Legolas was comfortable admitting. He narrowed his eyes on the second before his blue gaze flickered to his father, who had not yet stilled his pace.

"You killed them all?"

"There were some that got away, sire."

Thranduil faltered, turning his head to look at the male. "And you followed them, yes?"

"They headed south, sire, where the spiders reside. We did not want to risk losing more."

Thranduil stared at the male, his face a mask of utter emptiness. His eyes, however, spoke volumes for his wrath, and it was through a clenched jaw that he uttered, "Legolas stay. The rest of you get out of my sight."

They bowed and withdrew, and Legolas turned toward his father, his own blue eyes narrowed. "Sometimes we can barely recover from one attack before there is another. We are losing ground, father, and there is talk of war from across the mountains."

Thranduil resumed pacing, his thoughts seemingly lost to himself. Legolas waited for him to speak, knew better than to interrupt his contemplations, and instead turned his eyes to the hall he called home.

Carved from stone, the Elvenking's Halls were glorious to those who were allowed to witness its vast, cavernous splendor. Though the Halls themselves lay deep beneath Mirkwood in a mighty system of caves carved of grandeur, Mirkwood was proud with its rich, deep oaks and shining pines, impressive maples and hardy birches. It was there Legolas liked to spend most of his time, admiring the starlight by night and helping to keep his homelands safe during the day. Something that was coming to be incessantly more difficult as time wore on.

"I will have you go to Rivendell." Thranduil finally said.

"Rivendell?" Legolas asked, his stern brow furrowing. "What for?"

"Elrond has sent a missive; he is to hold a council to decide the fate of the Ring."

Legolas's eyes flared; he knew of what his father spoke, had heard the rumors about the Ring. However, he had heard no news of the trinket, and as far as he was concerned no news was good news.

"What of it?"

Thranduil paused, looked to Legolas with barely bridled fury in his eyes. "This war you speak of is on the horizon.

"Go to Rivendell. Tell them the creature Gollum has escaped." Thranduil spat. It was something he had been trying to keep from reaching too many ears, but the beast remained elusive; they had yet to relocate him and bring him to heel. _And it has been months. _His father was still incensed that the filthy Gollum had managed to dupe him. On top of that, Mirkwood had just suffered another attack at the hands of the orcs just this day passed.

_Seventeen lost…_

"Warn them of the dangers from the south. I will send Calanon and Nendir with you. Leave tonight."

Legolas bowed curtly to his father, and made to turn to return to his chambers and ready a light satchel.

"And Legolas?" Thranduil's voice rang out through the Hall, stilling his son. "Perhaps you could deem it pertinent to act within my wishes this time?"

Legolas stiffened, his eyes narrowing at his father's behest. He felt rebellion spark and had to purse his lips to keep from twisting a retort. He knew of what his father spoke; it was the only thing his father held against him, the one thing he could not drop.

But instead of answering with the fire he felt, he pulled his tempter to heel. He turned slowly, jaw clenched tightly enough to crack his teeth, and managed to reply, "Yes, father."

* * *

_**AN: **_So when I posted the first chapter I forgot to do my little disclaimer: I obviously own nothing Tolkien, could never imagine to envision what took him years. I am merely borrowing his characters, storyline, plot, etc. and adding my own twist to it!

That being said, my plan for this story is that it will pretty much follow the tale of LOtR, but from a different point of view and with a few tweaks, a little (okay, so maybe a lot) angst and some romance. You may see some dialogue from the books or movies, and you will most definitely see some scenes. I may have changed some things and you may be like, "huh? why did she do that?" If you have any questions or concerns about something, let me know!

Also, I know we're off to a slow start. But I like to set the background as much as I can, so you can get to know the character and maybe try to decipher how they will act, so in the future I can FSU in your poor little mind =] Haha no, but I do like to set a great scene, and hopefully you like it too! Just stick with me; _I_ know I have great things planned, and I would like you to hang around to be a part of them! Then again if you don't want to, I ain't mad atcha either. I'm just here to do something I love and to share it with you fine people.

I'll try and remember to add some translations for the Elvish I use. It is very loosely translated, and I may have used the wrong order of words. Let me know! I want to fix it so it's as accurate as possible.

_Noro lim = _run swift

_neth pîn = _little girl


	4. Chapter 4: The Nine

**Chapter Four: The Nine**

Nieriel slid her blade into its scabbard before reaching a slender, calloused hand for the other. The slow _sching _of it into the fine leather holding heated her blood, made her nerve endings stand on end in anticipation. Night had fallen and she and Arwen were going to take to the East-West road for a bit of scouting, and her heart was drumming, her adrenaline already high as she readied herself. She was on razor's edge, because just yesterday, after three days of uneventful and unsuccessful searching for Frodo, the twins had returned to Rivendell with nothing more than what they had left with. The notion had not set well with Elrond, but Nieriel liked it even less; she could almost feel that something was about to become harrowingly amiss. And the fact that the Ring-bearer remained just out of grasp was beyond anyone, even the elf-lord himself.

_A simple hobbit! Although I am sure if things had turned in favor of the Shadow we would know by now_, Nieriel thought, caressing a hand down her second blade with a scrutinizing eye. Double blades were her weapon of choice and this pair happened to be a gift from Glorfindel. Each knife was the length of her fingertips to the crook of her elbow, shining silver-white and sharpened by her own hand just this afternoon. The blades were curved along the edge and light, and they sung her favorite song: vengeance. The hilts were simple leather with little adornment, however inscribed along one blade were the Elvish words: _know thy light, thy song_; along the other were the words: _this is the end._ The letters gleamed up at her, asking to be soaked with the blood of her enemies this night. Nieriel stared down at the words, her heart rate climbing; she could only hope she would not disappoint.

With a nimbleness that came from years of practice, she sheathed the blade in its holding with a fluid flash and a flick of her wrist. The scabbards were attached to leather queues made into loose straps that looped around each shoulder, so the blades rested crisscrossed over her spine. She situated them so she was comfortable and then used the leather queues to tighten them as she would a belt so the hilts peeked out over each shoulder, at the ready for her willing hand. She took her other two smaller blades and sheathed them along her calves inside her tall brown boots, before sliding another pair of smaller knives along the sheaths on her forearms. She was not as adept with a longsword as Arwen and the bow had never come easy to her as it did Elladan and Elrohir. She was skilled in her art of blades, had excelled in it enough to make her enemies tremble in fear of her name.

_But mayhap no news is not good news, _Nieriel thought, drawing her long, brown hair back into a ponytail, catching any stray wisps clear of her face. She was dressed in brown leather breeches and a small tunic of blue with a leather belt around her waist, and her cloak lay waiting for her draped over her bed. _I like not the threat of losing peace._

She walked the short length of her chambers to retrieve the steel-colored garment and threw it about her shoulders, taking in the confines of her room as she pinned the sapphire brooch beneath her throat. Her chambers were small yet comfortable, and adjoined Arwen's in the east wing. With windows that boasted a view of Bruinen and arching doorways, it was a quiet place with little furnishing, which spoke much of the woman who lived there. Nieriel had never been overly flaunting and did not like a lot of embellishment; she was a simple woman. There was a small hearth against one wall and only one tapestry which lay above the bed, depicting a scene of horses running along a river. There was a quaint writing table by the hearth and a slender bookshelf by the sleigh bed, which was neatly and meticulously made by her own hand with the finest navy linens. A wardrobe centered the two windows and there was a rug with a beautiful, swirling pattern of leaves of silver and blue that blanketed the stone floor. It was her place of peace.

She bent to blow out the single candle on the end table that rested by her bed, piled high with books she had yet to read, before embarking from her room through the door that connected her with Arwen's chambers. Her boots were soft against the stone floor as she stepped over the threshold, and Arwen looked up in the midst of pulling on her riding gloves.

"It is to be a clear night," she remarked, reaching for her own matching cloak next. "How is your leg?"

Nieriel glanced down at her thigh, the one that had been accosted those days ago when they had happened upon the orcs. Elrond had looked at it and given her a poultice to use for the first day, and the wound had sealed nicely thereafter. "I am fine." She waved off Arwen's concern, thankful for it but not needing it. "Think you we will come across anything?" she asked, pulling on her own gloves. She glanced through one of the windows and indeed Imladris was dark under the shadow of night, though the air was clear and there was not one cloud in the sky. Arwen had one of her windows propped open as she always did, and the rushing of the Bruinen could be heard singing softly and sweetly as it wound its way through the city. The Main House was quiet this time of night, for it was swiftly approaching the midnight hour, and the city slumbered. Waterfalls trickled their lullaby in the distance, and as Nieriel turned from the window to follow Arwen from her room, she was pleased to find the night so accommodating for scouting.

"It is hard to say; it has been quiet as of late." Arwen replied as the two walked the short stone hall to the entry of the House.

"I do not know if that is a good thing or a bad thing. I feel an uneasiness in the air." Nieriel murmured softly, as to not make too much noise. Torches in their sconces drenched their frames with orange light as they moved down the hall, whispering their own silent caution as the women stepped into the main foyer.

"This council cannot happen soon enough. I will feel better when we have a plan." Arwen replied gently, looking through the dim light to her friend. "You are ready, then?"

"I sent word to the stables to have Stormwind and Moonglow readied." Nieriel nodded her acquiescence. "I am ready if you are."

"You did not tell me you were riding out."

Nieriel and Arwen both startled, and turned to find Elrond bleeding from the shadows of the west wing. He was draped in a robe of navy splendor and regarded the two women with concern hard on his brow, his hands clasped before him.

"Did we not mention so at supper?" Arwen asked, and Elrond negated her question with a solemn shake of his head. "I apologize father, it was not our intention to be devious."

"We are just going to scout along the East-West road." Nieriel supplied, and Elrond turned his wise, grey gaze to her then, his brow furrowing further. "We shall not be long."

"What are you doing awake, father? The hour is late." Arwen asked, her face creasing with lines of worry. She reached out to him then, and they shared a look of affection for one another. Nieriel saw worry in Elrond's ancient eyes, the corners creased with it, and she knew he was more concerned for Arwen then he let on; Celebrían's assault still weighed heavily upon his conscience, and his only daughter was very dear to him. He pined for his wife, mourned her loss as though she had parted from this world, but it was only for reasons unto Elrond why the elf-lord stayed behind in Middle Earth without her.

"I was in the library. Sleep is eluding me this night." Elrond replied, laying a hand atop his daughters. "It seems as though I will remain a victim of that suffering."

Arwen smiled gently up at her father. "Worry not for us father."

"That is like asking the stars not to shine." Elrond said softly, and Nieriel watched as he gave his daughter's hand a gentle squeeze. She felt her heart clench at the love they shared, a love between father and daughter that she would never know.

_Do not think of it. You cannot be afflicted with such musings before riding out._

"This night is quiet, Lord Elrond. We will be lucky if we sight an owl." Nieriel interjected to help quell his worries. "Besides, I can think of no better pair than Arwen and myself."

Elrond released his daughter's hand and smiled at Nieriel, raising a brow at her boastful words. "Pride, Nieriel? Another one of your more endearing traits."

"I merely speak the truth, my lord." Nieriel replied, causing Elrond to emit a small chuckle.

"Very well, Nieriel." Elrond looked at her, his brow softening out of its strong bow. "I only ask that you remain safe and return with the dawn."

Nieriel's heart swelled, recognizing a gentle fondness in his grey orbs. She knew Elrond loved her as much as he could a daughter, and although it was not the same type of love he shared with Arwen, she cherished it. She dipped her head in a semblance of a small bow and said, "Of course."

"_Galu; a na lû e-govaned vîn_." Elrond replied, dipping his head in return.

"_Posto vae, ada._" Arwen said, before she and Nieriel slipped across the foyer and into the night.

There was a chill in the air, and Nieriel was thankful for her cloak as a breeze whipped about her legs. The night was indeed clear though, and on it the scent of water from the falls and the foliage that surrounded them. As she and Arwen crossed the courtyard and under the walkway that led to the Main House from the Entrance Halls, she inhaled deeply of the soothing sensations around her to calm the fire in her soul bent on blood. An owl hooted its content from the trees in the distance and the city below the Main House was silent, standing vigil to their nighttime excursion.

Nieriel was eager to mount Stormwind and take the night, lend some of her tension and aggression on those who dared to ask for it. _By encroaching on my homeland_, she thought vehemently, her eyes narrowing through the darkness as they approached the stables. _For daring to think they can overcome us._

A movement caught her eye, and Nieriel drew to a sudden halt and flung a hand out to capture Arwen's own to do the same. Arwen faltered, and together they watched from the low light of the stables as Stormwind and Moonglow appeared, drawn by the steady hands of none other than Elladan and Elrohir.

"What are you doing?" Nieriel asked, letting out a measured breath to slow her racing heart. It was not often she was taken by surprise, but the twins were learned warriors and could move as such if they so pleased.

"What does it look like?" Elrohir asked, and it was then Nieriel noticed their own mounts brought to saddle as well. "We are accompanying you."

"You cannot have all of the fun, Nee." Elladan insisted, causing Nieriel to roll her eyes and snatch the reins of Stormwind from his grasp. The horse bucked his head at the movement and snorted his distaste at having been woken, and Nieriel lifted a handle to soothe him as she glanced at Arwen.

"If you can keep up," Arwen replied, taking the reins to Moonglow with a smirk. "You are more than welcome, brothers."

And so they all mounted and took off into the night.

* * *

They followed the path of the East-West road by the light of the waning moon, speaking little but ever vigilant. They had ridden along the Bruinen for a time, but had taken back to the road when that had proved uneventful. Now, the trees looked black against the silhouette of night, standing tall and still in their looming vigil. The stars twinkled but their light was muted, as if they too were silent. In the hours the group had been out they saw not one hide nor hair, with only the breeze quivering through the dead leaves of autumn for sound.

Night did not bother Nieriel, in fact she felt calmed from the stillness of it, but this night was different. Something was not right. Not even the added presence of the twins trailing behind she and Arwen on their own destriers could settle the unease in her belly. They watched with vigilant eyes the Trollshaws to the right, while Nieriel tracked the forest to the left, the Bruinen behind her and the Hoarwell in the distance, and Arwen surveyed the trail ahead.

_It is too quiet, _Nieriel thought, sending a look to Arwen. _Too still. _Her companion looked to her then and they shared a gaze of knowing before Arwen raised her hand and the small company came to a stop.

"What is it?" Elladan asked, coming to a stop next to Nieriel. He looked from Nieriel to his sister as Elrohir rode up on his opposite side, his own brow furrowed.

"I do not like this quiet." Arwen replied, her voice nothing more than a murmur. "There is something out there."

"We should split up." Nieriel said, and she saw the instant rebuke of Elladan as he tensed to argue. "Whatever it is will not expect us to do so."

"Safety outweighs surprise; we need to stay together." Elladan did, in fact, argue.

"We can cover more ground." Nieriel retorted, and Elladan sliced his head in repudiation, his brow falling stern to mask his features in shadow; the look was unlike his usual one and Nieriel thought it made him look much like his father in this moment.

"You do not know what this foe could be."

"I think we are all perfectly capable of handling our own, Elladan." Nieriel said, and he narrowed his eyes at her through the darkness, his grey eyes swirling their unease.

"What if it is another olog-hai? Or two? Or a troop of orcs? One hundred against one are sour odds, Nieriel."

"We will not stray far from one another; Nee is right." Arwen interjected, and Elrohir scowled his disdain. "You two take the Trollshaws and we will stay on the road. We will meet at the Last Bridge. If there is any disturbance we will know."

The brothers were silent, and Nieriel lifted a brow as Elladan shifted his jaw left, and then right. His eyes never left hers, wordlessly speaking his discomfort for the situation, before Elrohir drew their gazes with a hefty sigh.

"Very well. Be swift." he said, jerking his mount's reins toward the forest.

Elladan lingered a moment longer, never once breaking his regard of Nieriel. She frowned, growing restless under his gaze. _Why does he stare? _She gripped the reins tightly and made to send Stormwind into movement, however as she turned, Elladan's voice rang clear as he said, "Be safe, Nee."

She paused and looked over a slim shoulder at him, nodding once before digging her heels into Stormwind. _That was a little strange. _The beast took off in a slow trot with Moonglow at his side, her white head tossing with her eagerness to be off.

She and Arwen remained silent as they rode, stopping every once in a while to inspect the road for tracks or material left behind from a being. They rode for about an hour like this, listening intently for any sign of strife from the twins, but the night proceeded to be as uneventful as it had. The forest remained quiet, too eerily quiet, but the breeze had picked up, and Nieriel tipped her head back to scent the wind for anything ill or unpleasant.

_The scent of smoke, telling of a fire long put out, _she thought, looking across the Hoarwell through the scattering of trees to her left. The fields of Cardolan and Rhudaur lay sprawled before them in their vast glory, and in the far off distance Nieriel could see Weathertop towering over the rest of Weather Hills. Although it was a clear night she could make out nothing more than its proud silhouette, though the scent of the fire seemed to be coming from that direction.

_A camp atop Amon Sûl? _She glanced at Arwen, and indeed she had thought the same thing, for her brow was drawn down in a frown. _That place has been deserted since—_

The shriek of a nazgûl sliced the peace and quiet of the night, and both Nieriel and Arwen drew up short. It was not a sound that was close, but it was too near for them not to be concerned.

"Take to the trees." Arwen said, spurring Moonglow to do just that. They were far past the Trollshaws at this point, and so took to the copse of trees that lined the road. Stormwind leapt as Nieriel dug her heels into his sides, and it wasn't a moment that they were under cover before the screech of the enemy rang out again, this time noticeably closer.

"A nazgûl? Here?" Nieriel's heart thumped in her chest, yet her eyes were bright with the prospect of battle.

"So close to Rivendell…"

"Think you that was the camp we scented on Weather Hills?" Nieriel whispered as Stormwind shifted restlessly beneath her.

"They do not make camp." Arwen replied, her eyes turned toward the canopy of the forest as she searched for a sign of anything. "We should investigate."

"What about Elladan and Elrohir? We said we would meet them at the bridge." Nieriel pulled Stormwind to a halt to keep the creature from sidling, and he tossed his head to express his disobedience.

"And we will; we did not say we would not go past it." Arwen replied, and before Nieriel could argue that fact she kicked Moonglow into a gallop. Nieriel gritted her teeth but followed all the same, more vigilant than she had been before.

They rode hard and swift for countless moments, bent low on their horses and barely daring to breathe. They assumed the nazgûl flew on their fell beasts, but the enemy of old was known to travel by horseback as well. The women were on high alert for anything and everything, but the creatures that ruled the forest were wise and had taken cover, did not go searching for it like the women did.

_That is why it is so quiet. Because they are wiser than we._

Arwen held out a hand then and Nieriel pulled Stormwind to a rearing stop, the warhorse stomping and snorting his aggression. She laid a hand on his neck to soothe him while Arwen looked this way and that, and Nieriel watched her; Arwen was the better tracker of the two, and Nieriel trusted her explicitly when it came to this.

Arwen jumped down from Moonglow and dropped her reins, and Nieriel did the same with Stormwind. She knew better than to open her mouth to break Arwen's concentration, but her blood was too hot to keep still. She shifted restlessly, trying to stay mute over the dry earth, turning her eyes to the trees that loomed around her.

Arwen cut her a look then, her eyes darting to the left. _There. Something is to the west._

_ What is it? _Nieriel asked wordlessly, and Arwen shook her head but once.

_I cannot decipher. Come. _Arwen began her trek on foot and Nieriel grabbed the nearest branch before foisting herself into a tree. She followed her companion aboveground, deftly and nimbly from limb to limb, tree to tree, as silently as Arwen traversed the earth.

They moved like this for innumerable heartbeats of rigid anticipation. Nieriel's entire body was drawn tight with tension while her heart beat rampantly in her throat and her nerve endings crackled in wild eagerness. It had been a while since she had last faced a nazgûl and it was a time she had not forgotten, because Glorfindel never let her do so.

_But that is a story for a different day, _she thought sourly, the lord's face clear and bright and laughing in her mind.

_Yes, I owe my enemy much._

Arwen paused and Nieriel did as well, balanced precariously between two branches on the same tree. She glanced down at Arwen but it was a second later that her attention was drawn to a bit of frantic scurrying in the underbrush not twenty paces to her left. Arwen withdrew her blade slowly, quietly, gently from its scabbard, and Nieriel swiveled her fingers which itched to latch onto her blades. _Not yet_, she thought, eyes narrowed through the darkness. There was a lone figure up ahead, scrounging the foliage with its back to them. _Beast or man? _Nieriel lifted her nose to the breeze but it moved in the opposite direction, so she could not interpret much else from the strange creature huddled in the bushes.

Arwen ducked low through the shadows of the trees and moved toward the thing. Nieriel loped through the trees as lightly as her kind allowed, moving through the branches and their dead leaven counterparts with ease and agility. As they grew closer to the creature, Nieriel thought he looked much like a man; he seemed large, had a long blade on his hip, and was ransacking the brushwood of the forest as though his life depended on it.

In that, he heard not their approach.

With a sharp glance up at her from her perch in the trees, Arwen hesitated a moment before she struck her prey. She mouthed a single word to Nieriel, and the elven woman smiled, almost laughed at their luck. She watched with mirth glimmering in her eyes as Arwen slipped behind her quarry, her blade poised at his throat.

"What is this?" Arwen intoned gently, her blade sparkling under the light of the moon. Nieriel's smile grew as Arwen's own blossomed, and she watched as the figure slowly unfurled to his full height beneath her hiding place, his stance stiff.

"A ranger caught off his guard?" Arwen tilted her blade to scrape the unshaven hair on his neck, and Nieriel jumped down before Strider with a grin on her face to rival the light of the stars, her hands on her hips.

"Who knew they were so easy to trap?" she said to Arwen, as Aragorn looked in annoyance first at her, before his eyes flickered to where Arwen stood behind him.

"Any less diligent and you would be lacking a very important appendage." Arwen teased, removing her blade from Aragorn's throat. The ranger visibly relaxed, though Nieriel noticed the handsome lines of his face did not smooth, and indeed worry was potent on his features.

"What is it?" she asked immediately, her smile faltering, as Arwen moved to stand next to her beloved. She too frowned at Aragorn, laying a hand to his forearm in her concern.

"I have in my keeping the Ring-bearer." Aragorn supplied. "But he has been wounded gravely and I fear for his life. He needs aid."

Nieriel noticed that he had a bundling of the weed athelas clutched in one bloodied hand, and she said, "Take us to him and tell us what has happened."

Aragorn took off to the west, through the thick forest adjoined to the Trollshaws. Nieriel and Arwen followed in his wake, their cloaks billowing as they kept up with his long stride.

"We were attacked on Weathertop by Ringwraiths. They are on horseback, all nine of them, and are tracking us even now. Frodo was stabbed by a Morgul Blade in the attack." Strider told them, his footfalls heavy through the forest.

As if to accentuate his words, the shriek of a nazgûl tore through the night, and the trio faltered in their haste. Arwen and Aragorn shared a look of angst before Strider took off with renewed vigor, clutching the weed tightly in his hand.

"I have three other hobbits in my keeping. We were heading for Rivendell." he explained, and an instant later they broke through the tree line and into a clearing where indeed, four hobbits resided. The roundest one stood from his kneel with a sword shaking in his hand, though his countenance was fierce as he stood guard over one lying on the ground.

"Who are you!" he yelled, and Nieriel almost laughed at his bravado. Stout of heart he might be, but the hobbit would not reach her waist if she stood side by side with him. He looked at her with all the ill-contempt he could muster while the other two, very similar in visage, cowered next to the fallen hobbit on the ground.

"Stay back!" The round one called again, though Arwen ignored him as she rushed forward and fell to her knees beside who Nieriel could only assume was Frodo.

"_Frodo, Im Arwen. Telin let thaed._" Nieriel stood next to Aragorn who knelt on Frodo's other side, was chewing kingsfoil to place in his blackened wound as Arwen cradled him in her lap. "_Lasto Beth nin, tolo Dan na ngalad._"

"What is she saying?" The round one demanded.

"Who is she?" One of the other, more frightened hobbits asked, looking up at Nieriel.

"She is Arwen; she has come to help him." she supplied, and the round hobbit seemed to lose some of his bluster. "She is asking him to come back to the light."

_For indeed, he looks much unwell. _Nieriel knew little of Morgul blades, but enough to know that a wound by one was fatal. She winced, watching as Strider took the athelas and placed it in the sword bite, and Frodo began to gasp and writhe, his body twisting grotesquely as he foamed at the mouth.

"Arwen? Lady of Rivendell?" The other frightened hobbit asked, his wide eyes bright. "Then you must be—"

"He is fading. He is not going to last." Arwen said curtly, and Strider grabbed Frodo from the ground as Arwen called for Moonglow. Nieriel whistled for Stormwind and a moment later the pair came prancing from the woods, tossing their heads and stamping in their unease.

They knew danger was close.

The hobbits drew back in their terror, though the round one looked like he wanted to argue as Strider placed Frodo atop Moonglow. Arwen grabbed the reins to her mount as Nieriel did the same, swinging herself up onto the saddle.

"Elladan and Elrohir have been searching for you for three days. Glorfindel too." Arwen paused next to Aragorn, catching his eye as she spoke. "I did not know what became of you."

Aragorn hesitated, holding Frodo up with a single hand as he looked at Arwen with affection evident in his gaze. "I am sorry. It was not my intention to worry you." He spoke softly, and Nieriel turned her gaze to the surrounding forest to watch for any sign of their foe, giving the two a moment of privacy she knew Arwen so desperately wanted. Aragorn lifted a hand then and clasped Arwen's own, blue eyes gentle as he said in Elvish, "Stay with the hobbits. I will send horses for you."

"No." Arwen said immediately, responding in kind. "I am the faster rider."

"The road is too dangerous." Aragorn replied, and the round one, having had enough of a language he did not understand, interjected, "What is going on? Where are you taking him?"

"If I can reach the Ford, the power of my people will protect him." Arwen replied, and Nieriel jerked her head to the south, thinking she heard the crush of underbrush in the distance.

"We have to move."

Arwen squeezed Strider's hand and smiled a smile just for him. "I do not fear them." she whispered in Elvish,

Nieriel glanced down at Strider; it was evident he did not want to let her go, but he knew she was right. To soften the danger of the situation she offered, "I will take him. I am faster than you."

"You need to warn Elladan and Elrohir. I will take Frodo and meet you at the Ford." Arwen said, and Nieriel watched as she mounted Moonglow.

"You will have nine Ringwraiths riding after you, Arwen." Nieriel said firmly, her brow stern. "I can outrun them."

"The more we sit here talking about it the more nullified the matter becomes." Arwen said, causing Nieriel to glare at her companion. However, she knew she was right.

"Hopefully they will not know who to follow: you or I." Arwen said to her, and Nieriel could only wish to agree. "We will draw them away from you. Stay hidden." Arwen then said to Aragorn, and the ranger nodded. He placed a hand on Moonglow's rump, preparing to set the horse loose.

"Ride hard. Do not look back."

Arwen nodded. She glanced at Nieriel then and her tone was dim as she said, "_Noro lim_."

Strider backed away and yelled, "Hey yah!" slapping Moonglow on her hind. The horse leapt from the clearing and back toward the east, toward Rivendell, and Nieriel shared a look with Aragorn, her reign tight on Stormwind.

"I will see her safe." she promised him, before taking off slightly more north, for the Trollshaws.

* * *

Branches whipped at her frame, tore at her cloak as underbrush and mud splattered her boots and breeches. Stormwind was snorting in his ferocity, galloping with all the vigor that he was bred with, as dawn lightened the horizon above. That, however, did not stay the nazgûl. Nieriel knew there were at least three on her tail, maybe four, and she prayed with every ounce of holiness in her that Strider and the hobbits were safe. _They cannot fend for themselves such as I can. And they are on foot._

Up ahead Nieriel could see a clearing, knew that the Last Bridge was close. So far she was outrunning the nazgûl by a good length, but Stormwind was just as tired as she was, whereas the nazgûl had relentless strength and were tireless in their pursuit.

_And Arwen… _An angry screech of defiance pierced the early morning air, and Nieriel bent lower over Stormwind, urged him faster yet. _I hope that she has made it to the Ford by now._

Nieriel broke through the clearing drawing up dust and debris, and up ahead she could see Elladan and Elrohir waiting restlessly by the mouth of the bridge. Both had dismounted, however as Stormwind came to a sliding stop before them they grabbed their mounts' reins, eyes alight with worry.

"What is it?"

"Where is Arwen?"

"There are nazgûl on my tail. Arwen has the Ring-bearer, is making for Rivendell. She will meet us at the Ford." Nieriel rushed out, as breathless as she was wind-torn. "Make haste! They are not far behind!"

Elladan and Elrohir leapt into their saddles, jerking their horses toward the east. "Are there nazgûl following Arwen as well?" Elrohir asked.

"I do not doubt it. Last I saw there were three trailing me. Strider is out there as well, with three more hobbits in his keeping." Nieriel heaved, her limbs shaking from her weariness. Sunlight began to pierce the Trollshaws, though its awakening did not bring forth the birds as it did every other morning. No, the creatures knew the peril that was afoot, stayed hidden for the sake of their own lives.

"We will ride for Aragorn. You meet Arwen at the Ford." Elrohir said, and Nieriel nodded her consent.

"He was going to follow the road heading east, but stay out of sight. He did not want to risk it. Even though the nazgûl are after the Ring, they will not heed anyone that stands in their way." Nieriel told the twins, and Elladan nodded. They wasted no more time with discourse and flew to their own paths, adrenaline surging through their veins.

* * *

The sun had barely topped the trees and painted the sky a buttery yellow with tinges of orange, but the atmosphere was anything as beautiful or serene. Stormwind had lost the greatest of his stamina no matter how hard Nieriel pushed him, and although she sensed the nazgûl were no longer behind her, she kept up the pace. She knew they rode horses because their foul fell beasts did not darken the sky; and surely, she would've been caught by now if they had been.

_At least, I hope…_ She was slick with sweat, and Stormwind panted through his exertion, foam around his mouth as his own flesh slickened with perspiration. She was low over his neck and urged him with encouraging words, but he was weary, was beginning to stumble over the foliage. She had pushed him much harder this night than ever before, and the heavy pace without respite was catching up to him.

"A little further, Stormwind…" she whispered to him as the roaring of the Bruinen grew louder. She had crossed the great river a while back, had gone through the Trollshaws instead of around, had not taken to the road as to not draw attention to herself, and came from the north now, on the side of the river that was Rivendell. "We are almost there!"

An unholy shriek of anger shattered the solitude of early morning, and Stormwind tossed his head in anxiousness and whinnied his reply. The nazgûl were close, yes, but Nieriel knew they were not in pursuit of her anymore.

They had found their target.

_Arwen._

Nieriel dug her heels into Stormwind and he bolted for the sound, his eyes wild. Nieriel leapt into a clearing from the forest and ahead of her saw Arwen with Hadhafang raised high, Moonglow sidling nervously in a low spot of rushing water in the middle of the Bruinen facing all nine of the Ringwraiths on the opposite shore, who hesitated to cross the churning waters into the powerful hands of Rivendell.

"Give up the halfling, she-elf!"

Nieriel kicked at Stormwind to drive him faster, and Arwen looked at her briefly as she drew to a splashing halt next to her. The nazgûl fettered nervously at the arrival of the newcomer, their mounts rearing and snorting, though the relief Nieriel felt at seeing Arwen safe and sound was immense and she spared her enemy not a glance.

"My lady." Nieriel said breathlessly. Arwen looked just as worse for wear as she did, her hair in tangles and her clothes mud-splattered and torn. Nieriel glanced at Frodo seated before the lady and saw him pale and withered, though he breathed, however rapidly and coarsely.

_He will not last much longer._

Arwen nodded her appreciation at the impeccable timing, though the Witch-king of Angmar himself would not be stayed. His horse reared and he seethed his disproval by saying, "Two to feel our wrath now; the she-elf and her bloodless kin!"

"Remember us, do you?" Another asked, causing Nieriel to grind her teeth together as she blocked out the memory.

"Not so mighty were you then, she-elf."

The nazgûl behind him screeched their eagerness, and Stormwind tossed his head and jostled back a step. Nieriel held firm, glaring down her foe without fear or remorse.

"If you want the hobbit," Arwen called, Hadhafang glistening in the early morning light. "Come and claim him!"

The Witch-king kicked his steed into stride, breaking from the tree line and traversing down the bank and into the Bruinen. The other Ringwraiths followed in his wake, their black horses tossing their heads in their dismay at crossing the threshold into Rivendell.

_I hope it will not come to fighting nine nazgûl._ Nieriel glanced at Arwen to find her eyes closed and her head bent, though her lips moved subtlety in a soft chant.

"_Nin o Chithaeglir, lasto beth daer! Rimmo nin Bruinen, dan in Ulair!_"

Her voice grew louder, and her silver-grey eyes blazed as they opened.

"Waters of the Misty Mountains, listen to the great word! Flow waters of Loudwater, against the Ringwraiths!"

Arwen tipped her head up and Nieriel pulled on Stormwind to have him step back, Arwen doing the same with Moonglow as she continued her chant, the nazgûl drawing closer.

"_Nin o Chithaeglir, lasto beth daer! Rimmo nin Bruinen, dan in Ulair!"_

The ground beneath them began to tremble, and Nieriel joined Arwen in her last verse as the waters began to rise around the nazgûl. Their horses began to falter, stumbled over the rocks and bickering at the sudden change in the atmosphere, but the Ringwraiths pushed them faster, deeper into the waters in their efforts to get to Frodo.

"Waters of the Misty Mountains, listen to the great word! Flow waters of Loudwater, against the Ringwraiths!"

Nieriel and Arwen had reached the bank of the Bruinen and not a heartbeat too soon. A loud, crashing burst of water rounded the bend from whence Nieriel had just come, barreling with all the force of a tidal wave in its wrath. The nazgûl shrieked their dismay, tugged at their horses to get them to retreat, but the mounts were distressed, would not listen. They reared and tossed their great, ugly black heads as the water from the Bruinen cascaded swiftly and disastrously toward them, unfeeling and unmerciful in its fury. Nieriel and Arwen watched safely from the opposite side as the winding waters crashed over the Ringwraiths, swallowing up their howls of terror and ire and carrying them swiftly and surely away.

"Frodo!"

Nieriel looked sharply at Arwen to find her sliding from the saddle, the Ring-bearer in her grasp. Nieriel dropped lightly onto the ground and kneeled next to Arwen, who was cradling the small little hobbit in her lap, her touch light on his pale, sallow face.

"Frodo no! Do not give up! Not now!" she cried, and Nieriel ripped open his already torn shirt to look at his wound. She grimaced at the black, thick secretions that leaked from the laceration, of the mangled and translucent skin that bore blackened veins beneath his flesh.

"I do not have the skill to treat him, and nor do you." Arwen said, and Nieriel looked at her in distress, knowing what she spoke was true.

"It's spreading." Nieriel told Arwen. "He needs Lord Elrond."

"Is there nothing we can give him to stay the poison?" Arwen asked of her, and Nieriel began to shake her head slowly; she knew of nothing if the athelas had not worked.

Arwen looked back down at Frodo, moving her hand from his face to his heart. Nieriel watched as she closed her eyes and murmured softly to him, words of mystic that not even Nieriel could decipher. Frodo gasped and writhed, his brow wet with sweat, though it was evident he was weakened. His limbs shook violently from the effort it took for him to breathe, and his eyes were glassy and vacant as they looked to the sky, unseeing of anything.

_He is not going to make it._

Nieriel launched back into Stormwind's saddle and reached down for Frodo. "Give him to me. We must make haste for Rivendell."

Arwen opened her eyes, their depths rich with her despair, and she relinquished her hold of him unto Nieriel. Nieriel wrapped her arms around the hobbit and waited for Arwen to mount Moonglow, before digging her own heels into Stormwind and urging him forth.

_Pull through, Frodo, _she thought, glancing down at Frodo as Stormwind took up the East-West road, where Rivendell loomed in the distance.

_There are many who are counting on you._

* * *

_**AN**_: I try to update on Fridays/Saturdays (I don't know if I've mentioned that before), so tada! Thank you to all the wonderful beings who've submitted feedback so far; I am utterly elated that you all are enjoying this! I thank each and every one of you for your kind words.

Translations

_Galu; a na lû e-govaned vîn: _Good luck; until we meet again.

_Posto vae, ada: _Rest well, father.

_Noro lim_: Ride swift.

Oh! And one more thing! I'm trying to figure out a way to incorporate the maps I use for Middle Earth and Rivendell into links, so you guys can get a visual on how I lay things out, but I've been sorely unsuccessful. I'll keep at it though! Hopefully I can figure it out soon!

_xox - ithilbereth_


	5. Chapter 5: Making Acquaintances

**Chapter Five: Making Acquaintances**

_Nieriel rode into Rivendell, awakening the city with a cry that shook the heavens. Servants began to pour out of the Main House carrying torches or candles with Elrond at the forefront of the cavalcade. Nieriel jumped down from Stormwind and then turned to retrieve Frodo in shaking arms while a stableboy caught her steed's reins. Elrond met her halfway across the courtyard with a look of grave concern turning his brow._

_ "Bring him inside." Elrond told two of the servants, who immediately took Frodo from Nieriel's trembling hands. He looked at her then, his grey eyes fierce, yet hinged with worry. "Where is Arwen?"_

_ "Not two lengths behind me." Nieriel said, just as the lady cantered into the courtyard upon Moonglow. "Elladan and Elrohir went to assist Strider. He has three other hobbits with him. They were attacked on Weathertop by Ringwraiths."_

_ "Ringwraiths?" Arwen dropped down from Moonglow beside Nieriel, breathless and quaking from her own harrowing ride. Elrond looked from her back to Nieriel. "Where are they now?"_

_ "Overtaken by the Bruinen; not defeated, but allayed for now." Arwen responded. "Aragorn said Frodo was stabbed by a Morgul blade. He needs your help, _ada."

_Without another word Elrond spun for the Main House, following the trail of servants who had been awoken by Nieriel's cry. Arwen and Nieriel fell in step behind him, and though disheveled and weathered, adrenaline coursed hot through their veins._

Strider and the others will be fine, _Nieriel told herself. _Bolstered by Elladan and Elrohir, my worries do not reside there. _Her gaze flickered to Frodo's head, lulling languidly over Elrond's arm._ But for the life of this small hobbit, Frodo Baggins…

_Why Nieriel felt so compelled to see him well she did not know, could not explain. _He will come to be important, _Arwen's words rang in her head, from one of their conversations only days ago._ _She trusted Arwen explicitly; her foresight was strong, though her visions did not happen often, and her intuitions were never to be discounted._

_Nieriel's heart raced as fast as her feet up the stairs and into the foyer, her mind a void of tumultuous thoughts._

Ringwraiths near Rivendell.

Frodo is here.

Who are these other hobbits?

The council is in three days' time.

_As she whisked down the hallway of the West Wing following Arwen, she heard much commotion up ahead as a room was hastily procured for the hobbit. They wound around bodies as servants lit the torches in their sconces or flitted in the opposite direction to fetch wares for the room. She and Arwen dashed over the stone of the hall, desperate in their exhaustion to keep up with Elrond's long stride, trailing mud and grass from their dirtied clothes._

"_Pull the shutters! Grab more kindling for the fire!" There was one servant who was directing the others, and Nieriel barely shimmied her way into the room through all the bodies bustling about. The inhabitance suddenly blazed with light from the hearth opposite the double bed, and the chill of night was blocked as servants pulled curtains and shutters._

"_Bring linen. A fine, slim blade. Rouse the fire hot." Elrond ordered, rolling up the sleeves of his robe as he knelt beside the bed where Frodo writhed and gulped for air. Servants scattered to do his bidding as Nieriel and Arwen took up vigilance opposite Elrond, watching as the elf-lord opened the hobbit's tunic to reveal the wound in full._

"_It has spread." Nieriel uttered softly, though her voice was flat. The vessels around the wound were blackened but now stretched over his shoulder, down his torso, and across his chest. The laceration gaped wide and angry up at them, bleeding black and thick its drainage. It was no more than a fingerlength, but the poison within that was spreading through his body would be fatal within the hour. It had already been too long, the athelas Strider had given him futile._

_Elrond leant over Frodo, laying a hand overtop the wound ever so gently as he closed his eyes. Frodo bucked in anguish, and Arwen fell to her knees by his side to still his shoulders and whisper words of encouragement in his ear while Nieriel grabbed his legs to keep him immobile. Nieriel looked from Frodo to Elrond to find his face bent in hard lines, and he looked up at her then with darkened eyes._

"_There is a fragment of the blade in the wound. If we do not get it out, he too will turn into one of them." Elrond said, drawing his daughter's gaze. He looked over his shoulder as a servant rushed in with a set of shining blades, all of various sizes, and another trailed after her with a pile of linen._

"_Dampen the linen with cold water. Go and fetch me fresh athelas. Heat the knives over the fire. Someone grab his other leg." They scampered to do his bidding, knowing time was of the essence. Elrond looked back to Frodo then, and Nieriel shared the grimace on his brow with one of her own._

"_He will not like what is to come."_

* * *

Nieriel let out a gentle sigh as she turned the page to her book. Her body was weary this day; many times her eyes had lulled over the paragraphs and sentences that usually so intrigued her. She was comfortable in her wooden chair with the sunlight playing upon her back, keeping her warm against the cold, bitter wind of this chilly autumn afternoon, adding to her exhaustion. Arwen sat opposite her working on mending a shirt for Aragorn, and on the bed that separated the two women lay the Ring-bearer. He was on the mend, and slept peacefully away his ailments thanks solely to the healing hands of Lord Elrond. It was he the hobbit owed his life to, for without Elrond's knowledge from far and wide Frodo would have succumbed to the Morgul blade's bite.

Under Elrond's skillful hand the shard of the blade that had been embedded in Frodo's flesh had been removed and the wound sealed with simple stiches, and was now bandaged and healing with the aide of a strong poultice of athelas. Frodo remained in the Main House until he could recover, and then he would move to the Guest House where the rest of his companions now resided. Aragorn and the other hobbits had been returned safely to Imladris with Elladan and Elrohir, relatively unscathed but the hobbits shaken to their cores.

There were no signs of Glorfindel or the others who invitations to the council had been extended, and so Nieriel and her lady reveled in the tranquility of the day after such a treacherous night. Peace once again shrouded Rivendell, though Nieriel knew the time where it was abundant was over.

A gentle breeze blew in from the window above Frodo's bed, and Nieriel allowed herself to become distracted by the swirling of the leaves beyond the sill. The sun twinkled through the meandering clouds, lending a golden glow to the outside world, which was succumbing to another change of the seasons. From this vantage she could see over the rolling hills and small copses of foliage to the Summer House, which held a butterfly arboretum where she and Arwen liked to spend their days in their youth. Beyond that was a gentle spring, fed by a small waterfall, where they had liked to jump from as they had grown older. _To go back to such times. _She hadn't jumped from that fall in ages, and she suddenly remembered how much she loved to do so. Her musings brought her comfort and she yawned then, bringing a hand to shield her mouth. Arwen caught the movement and was ailed by the same, and she laughed softly at the contagion. "We are falling asleep on our tasks."

"Truly, _The_ _Queens of Noldor _is not as interesting as it usually is."

"Perhaps I could relieve you ladies for some rest. You have well deserved it."

Arwen glanced up and Nieriel looked over her shoulder, and they both smiled and set aside their undertakings to rise and greet the newcomer.

Gandalf smiled as the women bowed their salutations, returning in kind. "I am happy to see this day has found you well. I have heard from Lord Elrond that last night was harrowing."

"We have had better days." Arwen told Gandalf, and the wizard smiled knowingly, his blue eyes twinkling. He was dressed in his usual robes of grey, belted about the waist with a worn leather piece, the hem six inches deep in mud. He looked as tired as they felt, with deep circles of black beneath his eyes, his hair and beard barely kempt. His sword and hat had been discarded for the moment, though he forever toted the gnarly staff that Nieriel knew was more dangerous than it looked.

"It is good to see you Mithrandir." Nieriel said, and he looked to her from Arwen then. Because he was such a close friend of Elrond's and Galadriel's and traveled to Rivendell often for friendship and counsel, Nieriel had known Gandalf for the better part of her life. She had even fought beside him in the Attack on Dol Guldur and the Battle of the Five Armies, among other minor skirmishes. She reveled in his intellectual conversation and so loved to listen to his stories of a Middle Earth she did not know. She loved his twinkling personality and sharp wit; he was a clever fellow, of that there was not a doubt.

_Yet not even he knows where my kin are, _she thought, fleetingly dismal.

"And how is dear Frodo this day?" Gandalf asked, and Nieriel stepped aside as he moved to the bed upon which the hobbit lay. He looked down at Frodo, his brow softening ever so slightly.

"He sleeps. He has not woken to take any sustenance, but Lord Elrond warned us as such." Nieriel replied, her voice soft as to not wake him. "He said all he needs to recover now is rest."

"I never meant for him to come to any harm." Gandalf said gently, and Nieriel thought he was talking more to himself than she or Arwen. He sighed heavily then and looked to her. "And the wraiths?"

"Deterred for now, but it was not with comfort that they were so close to Rivendell." Arwen replied, and Gandalf nodded slowly. "These times are changing, Gandalf. And not for the better."

"Yes, my lady; that is a fact I am well aware of. With this council your father and I hope to reconcile that situation to the best of our ability." Gandalf smiled then, a weary smile. "We can only hope now to counter the evil that is imminently upon us as best we can; however war is inevitable."

Arwen nodded while Nieriel remained still; it was a truth they were slowly coming to terms with.

"Tell me Gandalf, who were the other hobbits that rode with Frodo? Where is Bilbo?" Nieriel questioned the wizard.

"His gardener Samwise Gamgee, and distant cousins Meriadoc and Peregrin, fondly known as Merry and Pippin. Bilbo has arrived at Rivendell only this morning of his own wayward quest." Gandalf raised a brow, adopting a look of gentle scorn. "That hobbit is more slippery than any eel I know."

"You know many eels, Gandalf?" Nieriel teased, glancing at Arwen. "I fear we may have lost our illustrious Mithrandir to an addled mind."

Gandalf's eyes twinkled as a laugh rumbled from his lips. "In any case, I am heartened to see your skills are as sharp as ever. There are not many who face nazgûl and live to tell the tale."

"Do not tell Glorfindel; he will be sorely upset that he missed the opportunity." Nieriel told Gandalf, and the wizard chuckled. "Though it was far past the time for retribution against our last encounter."

"The Battle of Fornost?" Gandalf asked, raising a brow.

"Do not remind me." Nieriel said sullenly. She still had the scar from one of the Nine's lesser blades. A gash across her chest that had nearly flayed her, she had been forced to retreat and lay in recovery for weeks at Rivendell. Thank whatever gods that had been watching that Glorfindel had been present, and Elladan and Elrohir as well.

However, the males never let her live down the tale. Or how she so sorely required rescuing that day. In fact, it was their most favorite niggling story.

_It had been a nazgûl, for Eru's sake! _Nieriel thought heatedly of the memory.

Gandalf could not contain another chuckle. "I so do miss your stout, fierce heart Nieriel. There are few that share your passion for warfare."

Bolstered slightly by the compliment, Nieriel bowed her gratitude. It was Arwen next who spoke, "We will take our leave of you Gandalf. Thank you for the reprieve."

"And I thank you for your diligence," Gandalf replied, sweeping into the seat Nieriel had vacated. She took her book from his offering hand as Arwen gathered her own supplies, and they both walked toward the door to the small room. "Frodo will be aggrieved to find out that he missed such noble and beautiful company."

Arwen smiled and Nieriel, not used to the flattering words, could not stop the color from rising onto her cheeks. It was Arwen who replied, "Ever the charmer you are, Mithrandir."

Gandalf winked and with another bow from them both the women disappeared, shutting the solid oak door behind them with care. As a pair they took to the stone of the hall, walking slowly and captives to their own private thoughts. Arwen's elegant gown of forest green rippled about her feet while Nieriel's plain one billowed about her own, their slippers making little sound along the path. A gentle breeze swirled down the hall and ruffled their hair, chilling their exposed skin.

_Why do I feel as though the days are dragging? _Nieriel pondered, as their feet took them to the pristine path they frequently trekked: out the front doors and to the right, to follow the sloping halls of the domed walkway, which shadowed the courtyard and stables and would lead them to the entrance halls. They would then walk through the halls of the cascade walkway, which spanned the churning Bruinen, before walking along River Hall, finally ending at their favorite gazebo. _I despise sitting around waiting._

_And we will have more waiting until this council._

_But still, what will become of me when they have reached a decision? _She glanced at Arwen then, her dearest friend. _If she so chooses to abstain from the fighting, I will not leave her side._

_But then what?_

* * *

After a night of uninterrupted sleep and a tranquil rainfall, Nieriel and Arwen woke late the next morning to a bright yet chilly day. Autumn was in full bluster this day, with a whipping wind that scattered deadened leaves upon the domed walkway upon which they now walked, and brought with it the hint of winter on the air. Nieriel enjoyed the cold weather, loved snowfall and the world of ice that the waterfalls became, and looked forward to many a night by the fire with hot, spiced wine in her hands.

_Of course, on the nights I will not spend on the field, _Nieriel thought to herself, watching as her plain maid's gown billowed about her feet. She had her book tucked into her side while Arwen carried her supplies to work on mending Aragorn's shirt, and she looked at her lady then and asked, "How is Aragorn? I have yet to speak with him, but I know from your absence last night after supper that you have."

Arwen smiled, a simple, blushing smile of a woman in love. "He is well." Her voice was soft, but in it Nieriel knew her adoration for the man was strong. "I am lucky that he remained largely unscathed from the skirmish with the nazgûl. He took on all Nine of them on Weathertop."

Nieriel smiled at Arwen's pinkened cheeks. "I am sure you were a diligent part of his recovery. Pray tell, my lady, what time did you return to your chambers last night?"

"I do not believe that is any of your concern." Arwen sniffed, though the tinge on her cheeks deepened.

"On the contrary! I am your loyal handmaiden, and am worried about your well-being. If you are not getting enough sleep, I will have to ask Lord Elrond to procure you something to help alleviate that fact." Nieriel nudged her in the ribs playfully, and Arwen sent her a narrow-eyed glare.

"You are incessantly annoying and—"

Suddenly, the deep horn of warning sounded throughout Rivendell, and both Nieriel and Arwen paused. When the single blast was not followed by a second, they relaxed; there was no danger afoot, only a visitor was on their way in from the outlands. The call of "Riders!" sounded from the watchtower atop the entrance halls confirming their suspicions.

They paused their stride and watched from the entrance halls as a galloping trio of fair-haired riders cantered down the Rivendell Bridge atop shining horses and wearing light, leather armor. They moved quickly, yet their visages remained unfamiliar to Nieriel; she could not make out an emblem on any sort of weaponry, and their clothing was unfamiliar. She frowned, following their path with wary eyes as they rode beneath the bridge, and then turned to watch as they came to a stop in the courtyard before the Main House and Elrond came down the stairs to greet them.

"Fair-haired… From Rohan?" she asked Arwen. "Did Elrond send for emissaries from there as well?"

"I do believe that is Legolas, son of Thranduil." Arwen replied, moving to the balustrade to peer out of the window. "Yes, with both Calanon and Nendir, men of Thranduil's guard."

Nieriel moved to stand beside Arwen, her touch light on the railing. She tipped her head to the side and peered down at the new arrivals below in the not-so-far-off distance, watching as they exchanged greetings with Elrond, Aragorn, and Gandalf, as well as a few of Elrond's advisors. Her eyes caught on the tallest of the three, for he stood out with his white-blonde hair and slender, muscled frame. She could not see much of his face from her standpoint, but he moved with a fluid grace that strangely captivated her. He wore a longbow upon his back and a blade, not quite a sword, at his hip, and she watched as he relayed the reins of his warhorse to one of Rivendell's stableboys.

"Which is he?" Nieriel asked, her gaze riveted on the elf. When Arwen glanced at her in question Nieriel nodded. "The one with the bow upon his back."

Arwen furrowed her brow. "That is Legolas of course. You have met him before."

He turned then, and with her keen eyes Nieriel was able to take in his features. Her eyes flared; she felt her heart stutter its beat as her breath halted in her throat. _He is quite… _she shook her head, as if ridding the thought from her mind, her hand tightening on the railing. She just stopped herself from reacting to the suddenly thunderous pounding of her heart, as it had taken up a more vigorous rhythm, yet she did squirm ever so slightly in an effort to clear the tightness that had abruptly gripped her chest.

"No, I do not recall that I have." Nieriel said, her voice a distant fade. When Arwen raised a brow at the tone, Nieriel cleared her throat and pushed away from the window, ducking her face to hide her unruly blush.

"Come now! I know the Woodland Elves are an isolated kind, but I am quite sure you have met him alongside me. We have been to Mirkwood a time or two!" Arwen insisted, following after Nieriel as the woman walked in the opposite direction of the newcomers.

_I would not forget such a face, _Nieriel thought, and she shook her head again, this time more forcefully, as much to rid her sudden blush as to cast the thought from her mind. Ignoring Arwen was another matter entirely, especially when the lady came up beside her and twisted her head to peer up at Nieriel's shadowed features, laughter dancing in her eyes.

"Not even during the Battle of the Five Armies?" Arwen pestered, and Nieriel ignored her further while cursing her fair skin. "What is this now, my dear friend? Is that a blush on your cheeks?"

"Certainly not." Nieriel insisted, holding her chin high. "It is cold out. The wind bites."

Arwen let out a tinkling flow of laughter, and Nieriel became rather distraught when Arwen caught her arm and pulled her to a stop. With a flourish Arwen began to tug her in the other direction, linking her arm with Nieriel's free one so she could not break free.

"What are you doing?" Nieriel inquired, her voice uncharacteristically shrill.

"Why, I am going to make your acquaintance with the Prince of Mirkwood!"

* * *

Legolas relinquished the reins of his mount and turned to bow to Elrond before gripping arms with Aragorn, exchanging a grin and the words, "_Mae govannen_, Aragorn."

"_Mae govannen, _Legolas." Aragorn replied. "I trust you arrived without difficulty?"

"There was a little skirmish on the pass above Moria, but nothing we could not handle."

Aragorn grinned, raising a brow. "What was it, only one hundred?"

"Give or take." Legolas replied, causing Gandalf to chuckle.

"Do not appear too humble, Legolas. We will worry for you." The wizard said gravely, though his eyes danced with his mirth.

"We have seen a number of trolls come down from the Ettenmoors," Elrond interjected, and Legolas's face hardened into lines of concern. "Arwen and Nieriel took out a small troop of orcs just a few days past."

_Nieriel? _The name sounded familiar, but he could not place a face to it. "That is part of why I am here, Lord Elrond—"

"_Adar!_"

Legolas glanced up at the feminine lilt, and felt his breath leave him in a rush. Arwen was heading down the stairs of the Main House in all of her starlit beauty, a crimson smile upon her lovely porcelain face. Her exquisiteness was known far and wide, and it was without bounds that he beheld her now in her gown of pearlescent ivory. Her sable hair fell in billowing rivulets behind her, twinkling in the bright late morning sunlight, as she again called for her father.

However, it was not she who held him captive.

Behind her she pulled another woman, who was fair of countenance but was no near as stunning as Arwen. She was tall and slender, a wisp of a willow branch, with skin the color of tea and cream, only made more becoming by the simple celadon of her maiden's garb. Her shimmering brown hair was pulled back from an oval-shaped face in a simple braid, hiding her delicately pointed ears. Legolas forgot to breathe as he watched the sunlight catch her emerald eyes and cause them to glimmer.

_Those eyes…_ He watched as they sparkled, so incandescent they were ethereal. And he read so much in them! She was angry now, her gaze flickering to Arwen, and then the ground, the Main House, the walkways beyond, but never him or those around him. He detected a hint of fear, of apprehension in their depths, and he suddenly wanted to know if they would lighten with mirth, darken with passion.

The women came to a stop before them, Elrond smiling endearingly at his daughter. Legolas watched as the woman stopped behind Arwen as if shielding herself from view, but the noblewoman pulled her forth, holding her firm before her with hands on her arms. The woman squirmed uneasily, causing Legolas's ears to twitch; he detected she wanted to bolt, though her face remained as impassive as a stone.

"My lords of Mirkwood, may I present to you Nieriel; though I am sure you have met before?"

Legolas suddenly remembered to breathe when his chest became too tight, and he let out a rush of breath that he tried to hide by clearing his throat. The woman had narrowed her eyes toward Arwen and though she faced the men with a mask of cold aloofness, there was a stain of pink along her cheeks, highlighting her slender cheekbones. Her nose was long and upturned ever so gently at the end, and gave way to a pair of arcing, stern dark brows. Legolas drew his gaze down to her lips, lips that bore a slight white scar and snarled the top one slightly, and felt his heart stutter in an uncomfortable rhythm. He had to still himself from rubbing his chest at the irritation.

_She is not some great beauty, indeed her features are stern, but there is a light about her, a passion in her eyes, so expressive they are…_

She smiled then, though it was a forced one, and Legolas thought she would be much more beautiful if she would just tilt those pinkened lips a little more in true mirth. His mouth went dry and he cleared his throat to rid himself of his awkwardness, though the sweating of his palms would not be ignored.

_Sweating palms!_

Calanon started forth, brushing past Legolas to offer her his hand. "My lady, it is a pleasure—"

"I do not believe we have met." Legolas abruptly reached for her hand, completely blocking Calanon's gesture, and Nieriel pulled away ever so slightly, then realized her affront. Stiffly, she allowed him to take her hand and bow over it gently, his blue eyes locked on her own. "Legolas Greenleaf, my lady."

"I am a handmaiden, sir, nothing more." The she-elf replied stoutly, and Legolas thought he saw Arwen nudge her from behind with a sharp elbow.

"Nieriel has been my companion from the time I was born." Arwen tried to smooth over her friend's rough tone, her eyes dancing from Aragorn's to Legolas's. "That is why I am sure you have met before."

_I could not forget… _"I do not believe we have, for there is no way I could fathom to forgo such iridescent eyes." Legolas smiled his most charming smile, allowing her hand to fall slowly back into the folds of her gown. She immediately clasped her hands together and stepped back from him, nearly trampling poor Arwen in her haste to get away from his grasp.

Legolas almost frowned. _Maidens do not usually trample each other to get away from me. _On the contrary, why did she not swoon and giggle at his words, his feather-light, yet warming touch?

"I thank you for your compliment." Nieriel replied, though her acidic countenance said otherwise. Legolas was well aware of Elrond's raised brow, Arwen's dour frown, and Aragorn's smile of bemusement even if she was not. He was also well aware of Calanon and Nendir staring at him as though he had lost his mind.

"We overcame many orcs on our journey here." Legolas tried his charm once more, though where the idea to say that struck him, he did not know.

_Thinking to woo her, are you? _His conscience laughed. _You addle-brained fool; is it not so obvious she wants nothing to do with you?_

"Would you like a reward?" Nieriel quipped, her tone hard as she raised a slender brow.

Legolas was sure Arwen nudged her this time, and none too gently, for the woman stumbled slightly where she stood, before shooting a glare of daggers over one slender shoulder. If the comment had been directed at anyone else he would have laughed, though her uncharitable tone brought him humiliation. He felt his own cheeks burn at his juvenile boasting.

"It was at least one hundred." Legolas continued, and he knew not when his brain had disconnected from his mouth. He sounded like a whelp!

Nieriel frowned deeply, but before she could open her mouth to speak, Arwen gripped her forearm (roughly, if Legolas was any judge) and smiled her beauty to shine for all to see.

"We shall be on our way now, gentlemen. Thank you for your time. We shall see you again at supper."

Arwen whisked Nieriel toward the Main House, none too gently gripping her arm in their haste to get away. Their heads were bent together and they were chattering incessantly, though even with his acute hearing their murmured words were lost. He could tell, though, by Arwen's stern brow and frantically moving mouth and Nieriel's sourly puckered face, that the lady was berating her companion firmly.

_Nieriel… _Had he met her before and just did not recollect? As he watched her walk away, his eyes trailing her slender form from behind, from her shoulders, to her narrow waist, and the subtle flare of her hips, he thought _no._ As his body responded, his eyes tracing back up her frame, he knew he could not, would not forget the way she had made him feel in this moment.

_But why? _Though he was not quite sure what drew him to her, for she was indeed plain, he knew he would not forget such a character.

"Legolas?"

With effort, Legolas bore his eyes away from the females only after they had disappeared, and turned his gaze to meet the questioning one of Aragorn.

"I asked if you would like to reprieve," Aragorn asked, a brow raised. "Perhaps sit and talk of your journey before we sup?"

Legolas nodded, though he could not stop his eyes from flickering toward the Main House one last time.

Hoping to catch a glimpse of what, he did not know.

* * *

Translations:

_Adar: _Father

_Mae govannen_: Well met


	6. Chapter 6: The Fellowship of the Ring

**Chapter Six: The Fellowship of the Ring**

Three days later, Nieriel found herself in a predicament she would not have ever, for all her talents, foreseen.

The afternoon was bright and clear, with not a cloud to mar the fall sky. The trees swayed with the rhythm of the breeze, and the lulling call of the waterfalls lent their tranquility to the air. Nieriel and Arwen were huddled on the ground—_ like common thieves!—_ as surreptitiously as one could, on the balcony overlooking the veranda on which those invited to attend the council were convening. Elrond had forbade the women from attending, but that would not stop Arwen's curiosity from being appeased; the lady was more deviously capable than she led on. There would be no secondhand information for this mistress! _Much to my abject horror. _The balcony was recessed back from the area enough that they remained wholly unseen, but one wrong glance from Lord Elrond would have him ordering them their leave.

"This is not a good idea, Arwen." Nieriel whispered, for only the twentieth time. "Someone is bound to spot us."

They were crouched in the shadows of the corner, with Elrond's back toward them. There was not much they could blend in with save some furniture, and so they huddled together to shrink their shape from wandering eyes. In their stealth Arwen had even dressed the part: her gown was a plain, deep indigo with no embellishment. Nieriel was less inclined to change, did not even want to be here; in any case, her wardrobe varied little between maid's garb, plain riding clothes, and her one set of leathers.

The last of the members of the council had arrived just last night. All that had been sent invitations had come, and yet they sat below the women now not speaking, as still as stone, and staring at each other with venom in their eyes and unease rife in the air. Nieriel thought the males looked at each other as if wondering who would strike first; distrust was rampant. They sat with their respective cohorts: Elrond with his advisors and Glorfindel, Elladan, Elrohir, Legolas, and his companions; Gandalf sat beside them and on his opposite side rested an uneasy Frodo Baggins, with Bilbo beside him; Aragorn, who looked well-rested, sat beside Boromir, son of the Steward of Gondor; and finally there was Glóin and his son Gimli of the Dwarves, with two of their own attendants.

"Arwen!" Nieriel insisted, poking the noblewoman who crouched beside her. "This is not right!"

"Hush!" Arwen whispered insistently, glancing at Nieriel. "Lest you draw their eyes!"

"We should not be here anyway!"

Arwen waved her off as the rumblings below began. "Well if father would let me sit down there, we would not have to be up here."

Nieriel rolled her eyes. "Do you not think we are too old for eavesdropping?"

Arwen grinned from her position. "One is never too old to drop eaves."

"Or too noble, my lady?" Nieriel replied tartly, earning herself another elbow as the voices rose up to them.

"—summoned here to answer the threat of Mordor. Middle Earth stands upon the brink of destruction."

At Elrond's statement there was no small amount of shared glances, though those proposed enemies glared at one another in turn. The elves and the dwarves immediately blamed each other with their eyes, lips curling with hatred, while the men amongst them shifted restlessly in their tall-backed chairs.

"This destruction will be brought by the One Ring of Power. It was created by Sauron to control the other rings borne by Men, Elves, and Dwarves, and in turn completely dominate the inhabitants of Middle Earth. He succeeded in taking control once," Elrond paused, his eyes glazing briefly as he remembered a time long passed. "In a time known as the Dark Years. He raised his own cohort of foes in hopes of overthrowing the light: we saw the rise of the nazgûl, trolls, orcs. Even some subsets of Men became his corrupt companions. He constructed the Black Gates and Barad-dûr, and rose Mordor in his evil."

Elrond turned to face the other side of the circle, his brow stern. His drawling words were uttered with hard truth, and the eyes he met grew firm in the wake of his veracity.

"It was in this Ring that Sauron poured most of his power, and the two became counterparts of once another. The Ring made him omnipotent when it was in his hands, and together they were a force no one had ever seen. Thankfully, by the will of allegiance, he was banished during the Last Alliance…but not for good. Too, the Ring lived on, falling into the hands of Isildur. But the Ring wanted to get back to its master, would always want to get back to its master; that is its goal, even as we sit here now."

Nieriel thought she saw Frodo gulp, as the others in the circle shifted nervously in their chairs.

Elrond continued, in his strong baritone, "Sauron is not whole without the Ring; that is why he cannot take form before us now. That being said, he will stop at nothing to obtain it. We must destroy him before he can get his hands on the Ring once more. It is a disease upon this earth, and in the wrong hands, or weak hands, could be the doom of us all.

"Bilbo here," Elrond gestured to the old hobbit, who smiled bashfully in his seat. "Had been the Ring-keeper for quite some time after the creature Gollum, who had come upon it after the death of Isildur. Because the Ring had been hidden for so long and Sauron had not the power to search for it, it was kept safe. That is not the case any longer. It is known by the ilk of evil that Bilbo bequeathed the Ring to Frodo when he decided to retire to Rivendell, and it is Frodo who carries it now." Elrond continued, his voice dour. He stood regal before them all, hands clasped together through the folds of his robe. "Which is no small task, even for the noblest of men. This power I speak of, you cannot escape.

"You will unite or you will fall."

"What is this you speak?" rumbled one of the dwarves who was neither Glóin nor Gilmi.

"You know of what I speak." Elrond said, his grey eyes flickering and stilling on Glóin.

The dwarf, who Nieriel thought looked like a ruffled red hen with all of his hair, shifted uneasily in his seat. His son Gimli growled beside him, his narrowed eyes on Elrond. They both were still armed to his teeth and leathered in armor, _as if he stood a chance in battle against us, if that were to come to it, _Nieriel thought. She cared little for the company of dwarves; they were boisterously loud, embarrassingly inept, and greedy beyond measure. She had heard tales of some dwarves who had sold their young for gold! Those she had encountered in battle she deigned too stupid, to laughingly rash, to fight, and so the majority of the time she wasted not her skill on their deaths.

"Dáin sent us." Glóin rumbled after a few moments of silence. "A messenger from Mordor appeared at Erebor and asked for information of the One Ring. For information upon it that would lead to its return, it was promised that three of the Seven Rings belonging to the Dwarves, so egregiously taken from us, would be returned." Glóin looked almost sheepish then, though the news he next spouted was relieving. "We knew nothing, so sent him on his way without being the wiser."

There was a small commotion then, as those together twittered anxiously amongst one another. Nieriel thought, _a messenger from Mordor? Came to Erebor? So far north their vileness spreads…_

"We also come to seek news of what happened to our cousin Balin. He entered Moria thirty years hence and has not been seen since." Gimli thundered, stamping the butt of his axe against the stone ground.

"Why not seek the truth yourself?" Legolas snipped, and Nieriel quirked a small smile at his caustic tone. "Or do you fear what is said to lie in that cave?"

"You elves are not without fault! We know the creature Gollum has escaped your hands!" Gimli accused, and Nieriel raised her brows in a look of sincere shock, one she shared with Arwen.

Legolas twisted his jaw, his nostrils flaring at the affront. "We were attacked by orcs in the night." He turned his eyes to Elrond then, blue eyes shining with contempt. "He managed to escape some months back."

Gimli growled again, writhing his hands along the shaft of his axe. To still the retort that was sure to come, Boromir interjected. "Faramir has had dreams that make no sense, and myself as well. Mine own spoke, 'Seek for the sword that was broken, in Imladris it dwells. There shall be taken counsels, stronger than Morgul-spells. There shall be shown a token; that doom is near at hand. For Isuldur's Bane shall waken and the Halfling forth shall stand.'."

A disconcerting silence fell then, in which Borormir's eyes roved to Frodo after they had skimmed Bilbo. The others exchanged looks of apprehension, some mouthing in their own language their disquiet. All the eyes that were present swiveled to Frodo, one after another, and Nieriel pitied the small hobbit; she had never seen someone look more afraid. His wide blue eyes were daunting in his pale face, and she perceived sweat on his brow. His large, hairy feet hung over the edge of his chair and moved restlessly, and he jumped when Elrond bid him, "Bring forth the Ring, Frodo."

The murmurs were rampant now as the hobbit slid from his chair and reached into his burgundy jacket, his fist closed around a small trinket. Nieriel held her breath, a sudden feeling of dread settling in her stomach, watching as he walked slowly to the center of the circle where a small sun dial rested. She thought she heard the males draw in a collective breath as Frodo stepped up and opened his hand, placing the One Ring of Power onto the stone dial, before returning quickly to his seat.

"So it is true!" Boromir cried, leaning forth from his chair. "And this hobbit truly carried it, all this time." His eyes flickered disbelievingly from Bilbo to Frodo.

Nieriel frowned, her eyes on Boromir. He was smiling an eager smile, shaking his head slowly. He sounded revenant when he whispered, "It is a gift! A gift to the foes of Mordor! Why not use this Ring? Long has my father, the Steward of Gondor, held the forces of Mordor at bay; we could use this now, to drive them back for good!" He looked up at Elrond then, his eyes no less accusing when they lingered from the dwarves and their company. "By the blood of our people have your lands been kept safe."

Nieriel bristled, as Gandalf lowered his brow over his own eyes. She was there at the Battle of Fornost, any many other skirmishes, as well as the wizard, along with Arwen, Elladan, and Elrohir and many other lesser Elves. They had gone to the aide of the Men when they could, even when they had not been asked to, numerous times. And her people had suffered too! His poisonous words stuck a chord in her that caused her heart to pound in her anger. _Ignorant fool!_

"You cannot wield it. None of us can. The One Ring answers to Sauron alone." Aragorn said, shaking his head at Boromir. The other man turned his eyes to the ranger, his lip beginning to curl in his rebuke. "It has no other master."

"And what would a ranger know of this matter?" Boromir sneered, raking his eyes over Aragorn in contempt. "Do you not spend all of your time hiding in the wilds of the North?"

Nieriel's eyes widened as she watched Legolas stand hotly from his seat, his words seething as he spat, "This is no mere ranger! He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn. You owe him your allegiance, _son_ of the Steward."

Several sets of wide eyes flew to Aragorn then, who shifted uncomfortably in his own seat. _They do not know his lineage? _Nieriel thought, aghast. _How does one keep a secret like that for so long?_

"Aragorn?" Boromir asked in disbelief. "_This_ is Isildur's heir?"

"And heir to the throne of Gondor!" Legolas snarled, his body taut with strain.

"_Havo dad,_ Legolas." Aragorn said, lifting a hand to still his friend. The elf would not take his eyes from Boromir but regained his seat, fingers wrapping around his chair in white-knuckled, barely-kept fury.

"Gondor needs no king." Boromir replied acidly, and Nieriel knew in that moment she did not like this man. He was selfish at his core. Gondor had been at war, suffering under the hand of Denethor for _years. _She knew the city yearned for its rightful king.

"In any case, Aragorn is right. _We _cannot use it." Gandalf said pointedly, and Nieriel knew he spoke of those in attendance.

To do so would invite evil into the hands of someone who was already powerful, and in their will to do good, they could and most likely would succumb to evil. Havoc would wreak.

"Let us cast it away!" One of the Elves offered.

"We can hide it!" A dwarf supplied. "There are many caves, all dark and deep."

"You cannot hide it." Gandalf shook his head in denial. "It has a will of its own. It will find its master. It _wants_ to be found."

"The Ring must be destroyed." Elrond said from his position, and his voice reigned with thunder.

"Then what are we waiting for!"

Gimli stood then, rushing forward with his axe held high. Nieriel gasped, taken wholly by surprise, and watched as he brought down his weapon upon the Ring with a roar of defiance. In the blink of an eye, the dwarf was tossed from the sun dial by some unseen force, and he skidded to a halt at the feet of his kin who stood gaping at him with drooping beards. The others among the circle grew silent, staring at the Ring with trepidation cold in their veins.

"The Ring cannot be destroyed by any craft that we here possess. It was made in the fires of Mount Doom and only there can it be unmade. It must be taken deep into Mordor and cast back into the fiery chasm from whence it came." Elrond said, as Gimli was helped back into his seat by his father. He shrugged him off in his arrogance and glared at Elrond. "One of you must do this."

Nieriel heard a strange sound then, and belatedly she perceived one of the men laughing softly, lowly. Her eyes focused on Boromir, and her dislike of him grew.

"One does not simply walk into Mordor." His tone was dark, foreboding, but still he continued. "Its Black Gates are guarded by more than just orcs; there is evil there that does not sleep. It is a barren wasteland, riddled with fire and ash and dust. The very air you breathe is a poisonous fume. The Great Eye is ever watchful. Not with ten thousand men could you do this. It is folly."

"Folly or not, we have no choice." Aragorn replied, and Boromir struck him with a look of stupidity.

"There are plenty of choices; none of which _you_ want to hear!" Boromir snarled.

"Have you heard nothing Lord Elrond has said?" Legolas exclaimed, his eyes like blue fire. "The Ring must be destroyed!"

"And I suppose you think you are the one to do it?" Gimli chimed, and Nieriel wanted to squeeze his neck in that moment. _This is why I detest dwarves! Their manners are insulting!_

_Yes, like yours were yesterday? _Her conscience reminded her of her acerbic retort to Legolas's harmless boasting. She ignored the nag, instead turned her attention back to the council.

Ever the brash little creature, Gimli once again jumped to his feet. "I will be dead before I see the Ring _in the hands of an Elf_!"

Nieriel sighed heavily as a storm of an argument broke forth, and she closed her eyes against the tumultuous yelling. _Men get nothing done, _she thought, glancing over at Arwen.

"Shall we intervene?" Arwen asked, tilting her head to look at Nieriel.

Nieriel rolled her eyes as she heard Gimli shout, "Never trust an Elf!"

"I fear if we were to do so, the dwarf would be headless in a heartbeat, and I do not think your father would forgive me for acting out on peace. Or bloodying his veranda."

"He is being rather brutish." Arwen mused with a taunting smile. "I almost laughed when he hit his backside."

"I could make it happen again, if you would like."

Arwen giggled. "Be still now."

Gandalf stood then, wielding his staff as if to part the raucous crowd. "Do you not understand? While we bicker amongst ourselves, Sauron's power grows! No one will escape it. You will all be destroyed, your homes burnt, and your families put to sword!"

_Ease them into it, Gandalf,_ Nieriel thought with a quirked brow.

"You sound as if you have had this knowledge for a while now, wizard." Boromir sneered. "What have you been doing as of late? Surely not fighting the powers that be all on your lonesome?"

Gandalf bristled, sorely offended. "You sir dare to question a wizard, least of all me?"

"Well what of you?"

"I am not the wizard you should be questioning; it is Saruman who has turned toward the shadow!"

"Saruman!"

"It is with his will that Isengard has fallen into the dark. I was captured by the supposed White Wizard and held prisoner at his whim; _that _is where I have been. Saruman's long study of the Ring has corrupted him, and he has been seduced by the lust for power. He means to gain it for himself and thus supplant Sauron as master of Middle Earth, which is folly, for it is known that Sauron _does not share power_."

An outcry followed then, and if it were possible the argument got worse. Nieriel looked over at Arwen once more, and together they shared a look that spoke of pity for their own ears, before a clear, strong voice, one she had never heard before, broke the tumult.

"I will take it."

She and Arwen looked back to the scene, which had so eerily stilled. Slowly, with great care, Frodo stood from his chair, his eyes moving from one frame to the next as he formed his next words.

"I will take the Ring to Mordor."

Nieriel, at first, was not sure she had heard correctly. Upon hearing it a second time, her eyes widened._ This lowly hobbit?_

"Though I do not know the way."

Gandalf grabbed his staff with both hands then and leaned upon it, and Nieriel thought he looked his age then in his softly wizened face. He smiled, a gentle arch to his brows, and said, "I will help you bear this burden, Frodo Baggins, as long as it is yours to bear."

Boromir barked out a laugh, but at Elrond's steely glare he cast out his stark mirth.

"There should be more, to hold steadfast against the foes that so surely await them." Elrond intoned, his eyes roving those that watched.

Aragorn rose from his chair then, and Nieriel heard Arwen inhale her breath softly at the movement. "If, by my life or death, I can protect you, I will. You have my sword."

Legolas drew forth then, parting from his kin. "And you have my bow."

The dwarf-lord's son puffed out his chest and said, "And my axe."

Boromir shook his head, as if they were all daft, but rose as well. "You carry the fate of us all, little one." He stood beside Frodo with a heavy hand on his shoulder, and Nieriel felt her skin crawl at the gesture. "If this is indeed the will of the council, then Gondor will see it done."

"Here!"

Nieriel startled, and gasped lightly as Samwise Gamgee burst from the bushes of the garden beyond the portico. Elrond drew back in shock and Gandalf began to chuckle as the other two hobbits made their presence known, scurrying from the bushes as well. Arwen laughed next to her, and Nieriel jabbed her with a sharp elbow to silence her.

"Mr. Frodo's not going anywhere without me!"

Nieriel had to stifle a laugh then; perhaps there were more to hobbits than potbellies and rosy cheeks?

"No indeed. It is hardly possible to separate you even when he is summoned to a secret council and you are not." Elrond remarked, with a perfectly arched brow. The hobbits bashfully began to inspect their hairy feet while Arwen scoffed, sorely affronted.

"He will not let me listen but he is soft on them!"

Nieriel glanced at Arwen, rolling her eyes at the solid indignation she heard in her mistress's tone, before she watched Elrond survey the group, his grey eyes hard.

"Nine companions…" He raised his voice then, his eyes flickering across the proud faces who stood before him, who met his eyes unwaveringly.

"You shall be the Fellowship of the Ring."

* * *

Arwen had surreptitiously slipped away after supper, to visit Aragorn Nieriel was sure, and so that left the maiden to her own devices. Nieriel sought the company of the night, when all was quiet and the city had fallen into slumber. A whipping wind twisted the trees, lifting the mist from the nearby falls and carrying it to her path. She had walked from the bell tower beyond the main house and around the sloping grace of the gardens, and was now making her way along the cobbled path to a small footbridge that would branch the Bruinen. From there she would pass the gazebo Arwen and she liked to haunt, walk through River Hall and over the cascade walkway, before she rounded entrance halls and came to the main house once more.

It was a path she walked often, when sleep eluded her in the dark hours of night. Sometimes she took the trail with the morning rays, would pause and watch the sun rise over the Misty Mountains. Nature calmed her; it was where she felt most comfortable, lost within the sensations of natural world. Whether it was a hike up the mountainside, a race through the Trollshaws, a swim down the Bruinen, or caught in a summer storm among the fields of Eriador, Nieriel was most alive in the wilds of the unknown. If she were not so inclined to stay by her lady's side, she was sure in her centuries of life she would've spent most of those years a wanderer, exploring the reaches of Middle Earth.

_It is not as though I am not happy here, _she thought, her eyes lifting to the city below as she crossed the small bridge over the Bruinen. She paused for a moment, a slender hand lying against the smooth wooden rail. _For Rivendell is a most splendid place._

The city in the depth of the vale below twinkled with muted, golden light here and there, though the cobbled paths were nearly empty, and all was quiet. The only sounds were the gentle lull of the falls, a few late frogs that had yet to retire their melodies, and the wind snapping the branches of the brittle trees. A swirl of leaves tickled her slippered feet as they skittered along the bridge, taking with them Nieriel's celadon linen gown. Her hair, so harshly pulled back in a ponytail, brushed her shoulders as the wind first whipped north, and then east, bringing with it a soothing caress of mist from the nearby river. Nieriel closed her eyes for but a moment, inhaling deeply, before looking back to the moonless sky, to the stars winking down from their indigo home.

How she would like to see what else there was out there in this world, what the sky looked like from the other side of the mountains! Nieriel began her trek once more, thinking, _as much as I would like to know my own homelands._

A sigh escaped her then, for Nieriel was not one who found herself lost in whimsical thoughts often. But she could not pretend she did not think of her kin, how much she longed for them, or even to know where she had come from. Did she have family yet living? And if so, where were they? For over two thousand years no one had claimed her…surely, if she had relations, someone would have stepped forth by now, would have inquired about a missing child so long ago. Of course, she had had no time with her own duties to explore her musings, and even at Arwen's urgings would she not, could not leave her side. But did she have no siblings? No grandparents? How did a child go missing and no one care?

_Perhaps they thought I had become another victim of war… _Nieriel thought, her eyes on her feet as they met the stone path and sheltered corridor of River Hall, the whipping wind no longer afflicting her with goosepimples. _And just never looked…_

_But to never inquire in the first place… Did I mean so little? _Her eyes grew hard then, did not stray from her feet in her deep, shadowed reverie. It were these thoughts sometimes that kept her up at night, turned her dreams to nightmares. For her waking mind did not want to remember the past, but her sleeping conscience had no qualms of doing so. Some nights she would wake from the torture of her mind, sweating and shaking, as she looked around for the orc that had been not a moment ago looming over her. Other nights, his sword came down to mark her face as he roared his contempt, and she would wake gasping for air, still choking from the fetid stench of his body, his foul breath. Even Arwen's stilling hand on her shoulder would not calm her, and for many moments she would clutch her chest, willing away the pain.

"_It was but a dream, Nee." _Arwen would say, stroking her friend's long hair, her quaking shoulders. Nieriel would close her eyes and lean into Arwen, succumbing to the pain, fear, and vulnerability the dreams always brought. But never, _never_ would she show that side to someone else, lest they know her weakness, her most inner, darkest fears.

They were memories she could only access in sleep, for her waking mind would never heal from the horror she had lived at such a young age. And the dreams would always slip away, hiding in her memory until the next time they would haunt her slumbering hours.

Uncharacteristically inattentive, Nieriel did not take note of the figure until it was too late. She knew the hall and its layout by heart so knew she had not strayed from her path, and when she looked up in surprise to see what she had so solidly collided with, her eyes widened as they focused on the fair and bright Prince Legolas. Hastily she stepped back, and curtsied deeply her apologies.

"I did not see you there, my lord." Her cheeks burned from her slight; it was rare she let her thoughts consume her. However, it was unusual for anyone else to be in River Hall this time of night, and when she glanced up at him as she came out of her stance, she noticed he stood directly in the center of her path.

She frowned then. "You could have moved; surely you saw me coming." There was not much to hide her from view; the hall served as a thoroughfare, with many wide, arching windows on either side and the flickering light from torches in between. There was a bench at either end, and a pair of maidenly statues facing each other from opposite sides of the hall in the center, but other than that the path was clear, a wide walking space. He should've at least heard her.

_Yes, and you should have as well. The falls are not that loud. And since when are you so ill-mannered to strangers?_

Legolas smiled at her words, lifted a slender brow in response. "Perhaps I did not want to move."

Nieriel frowned deeper. "Whyever would you not? Do you like being plowed over by women?"

She realized her slip of tongue too late; Legolas laughed, and Nieriel felt her nerve-endings dance in response. She suppressed the shiver that wanted to steal her spine with a hard grinding of her jaw.

"I try not to make it a regular pastime, but there are times…"

Nieriel felt her cheeks burn once more; she was thankful for the cover of night and the low lighting of the hall to hide the worst of it.

"What are you doing here?" Her voice was hard, and she sounded more accusing than she meant to.

_What is wrong with you? Speaking to a guest of your home as such, and a prince no less!_

Legolas raised both brows then, and offered her a bow of remorse. "If I have offended you with my wanderings, my lady, I offer you my most humble apologies."

Nieriel bristled. _For whatever reason do you have to bristle? This male is not affronting you in any way! _"That is not what I meant. And I have told you I am no lady."

Legolas bowed deeper. "It seems I can do nothing to please you; for that, again, I am sorry." If Nieriel were any judge, the gleaming sparkle in his blue eyes revealed that he was not sorry in the least; he almost looked _teasing_. "Please, tell me, what may I call you then, so I may humbly and adequately beseech your forgiveness?"

"You may call me by my given name." Nieriel said, and she was sure by now if her blush had gone unseen it was not anymore.

"And that would be?"

Nieriel gritted her teeth to stay her caustic retort; he _was_ teasing her. _Why? To what benefit of his? _He knew her name, his smile well told. "Nieriel."

Legolas smiled again then, though it twitched at the corners, as if he wanted to laugh. "Ah, forgive me. _Nieriel._" The way he said it made her toes tingle, a foreign sensation that made her more angry than not. "What is it about being in River Hall that is so ill of me? Perhaps it is dangerous? Does a sharp-tongued serpent live here, her spitting venom a fatal poison? Does she strike from the shadows at unassuming and undeserving victims for no reason but sport?"

Nieriel knew he spoke of her. She grew hot in her anger, but for the life of her could not think of a single word to say in rebuke. And though she was an introverted being, speechlessness was not something she was known for, especially in the wake of her own humiliation.

"I only wondered what brought you to River Hall at such an hour." She clipped a short bow then, her body stiff. "Now if you will excuse me." She brushed past him with what sanity and pride she had left, her gown sweeping his legs as she passed. However, his low rumble of laughter followed her well into her journey, only fading from memory when she slammed the door shut to her chambers.

Nieriel rested her back against the door and closed her eyes, letting out a strong breath of air that she was unaware she had been holding.

_Never have you spoken to someone you have just met like that! _Her conscience chided, and she winced in remembrance. _Where are your wits, girl? You were raised with more dignity than that! Dare you disgrace Elrond? What would he think if he knew you acted as such?_

A subtle snicker saved her from her inner chiding, and Nieriel opened her eyes and looked toward the door that connected hers to Arwen's. She heard the lady moving about her chambers, and hastily crossed the space to seek her solace.

_To save me from the memory of that wretched debacle, _she thought.

She opened the door between the rooms to find Arwen sitting collapsed upon her bed, her eyes riveted to the floor and her discarded slippers. The fire had grown low in her departure, and so Nieriel moved toward it and began to tend to the flames.

"How is your Strider?" she asked, glancing at Arwen from her position by the hearth. When she finished adding another two logs to the embers she dusted her hands in the folds of her gown and turned to face her lady, and a frown instantly struck her.

"What is it? You look so forlorn. Are you worried about all that has transpired today?" Nieriel questioned, moving to sit on the bed next to Arwen.

"I want you to go with him." Arwen said, and Nieriel reared back her head in surprise.

"What? Go with who?"

Arwen drew her gaze up then, and Nieriel ached from the look of anguish in her grey depths. Arwen reached out and clasped Nieriel's between her own, and Nieriel looked down at the appendages when she deciphered that they trembled within her grasp.

"I do not want him to face this foe with so little bolstering his back. Who knows what is out there? We live sheltered in Rivendell, but the rest of the world is untamed and dangerous, especially in these times. I want you to take this journey with him."

Incredulous, Nieriel shook her head. "Arwen, no—"

"Aragorn could use the extra support; I would have you look after him in this."

Nieriel snorted. "Aragorn is the least of whom needs looking after. He has had no such trouble before! He is a ranger, is used to the wilds of the world."

Arwen squeezed her hands, and her eyes grew pleading. Nieriel felt her heart lurch at the gaze, and she ground her teeth together to stay the discomfort it brought her. "You and I both know that this army of Mordor is more than any of us can fathom. Aragorn does not believe in himself enough to pull through this. I would ask of you to make sure he does."

"Does not believe in himself? He is Isildur's heir! No one is more fitted for this than he." Nieriel said, and she watched as Arwen wilted ever so slightly; it was then she noticed the Evenstar she wore around her neck was missing. "What has happened, Arwen?"

"With the notion that he is setting out with little hope, he has taken it upon himself to decide what is best for my future." Arwen replied, her tone haunted, hollow. "He said what we had was a dream, nothing more."

Nieriel, too stunned to speak, merely stared. When she regained her breath, she asked, "He did not speak of you and he, I am sure."

"He said I was Elf-kind, when he is only a man." Her tone grew softer, but flat. "An ill match. That we do not belong together."

Nieriel felt her stomach churn as the center of her chest went cold. The affair between Aragorn and Arwen was no tedious matter; their love was profound, had gone on for decades, and Nieriel knew that Arwen could care less the boundaries between them. She planned to give up her immortality for him! Why, all the sudden, had Strider changed his tune?

_Elrond_, Nieriel thought. She knew how reluctant the elf-lord was to relinquish his beloved daughter's hand, selfish a notion as that was. Nieriel pitied that part of him, knew he acted as such only out of love, but she sympathized with her lady more. _He must have spoken to Aragorn._

"He does not mean it," she insisted; now it was her turn to reassuringly squeeze Arwen's hands. "And he is strong enough to see this through! He does not need me to help guide him to his destiny; Strider will realize it on his own. Besides, I was not asked to be a part of this quest, Arwen. I cannot foist myself into the group."

"Another body would be a blessing, not a curse."

"Then why not the both of us?"

Arwen's gaze fell to their hands, and Nieriel felt her grip grow slack. "I am to stay."

Nieriel's heart lurched again, though this time more painfully; she knew without asking the reason why.

"You have already spoken to your father on this matter." Nieriel said softly, and Arwen drew her hands away, folding them together in the pleats of her gown to hide their quaking, as she nodded but once.

Suddenly, all of the pieces Arwen had presented to her fell into place. Elrond had most likely spoken to Aragorn of the journey to come and his lack of a will to claim his crown, and if Nieriel knew Elrond like she thought she did, his words had not been temperate. She knew Elrond acted out of utmost love and devotion to his only daughter and her well-being; everyone knew Elrond would not let go of Arwen lightly, most of all Aragorn. And the ranger already thought himself unworthy of Arwen's hand, though he had been a foster of Elrond's from the time of his boyhood, and the elven-lord cared for him very much.

However, Aragorn had probably taken the words to heart and could foresee no future in the shadows of such looming damnation, and in turn spoken to Arwen in an attempt to foolishly break off their courtship for her own safety. In a desperate attempt to appease her father of his harsh words against their affair, Arwen had most likely begged for understanding of Aragorn from Elrond and pleaded her own romantic plight, had maybe even suggested to go with him and see him through on the journey, and Elrond had rebuked.

And so Arwen had come to her.

"Elladan and Elrohir are to ride with them for a time." Arwen spoke as if Nieriel had not uttered such a damning sentence.

Nieriel, though she had softened, shook her head firmly. "No, Arwen."

"Nieriel…"

"I serve you, Arwen. You are my lady. I will not leave you here to face dangers untold."

Arwen looked up at her then, and Nieriel splintered when she saw tears glistening in Arwen's eyes, making them as bright as the star she was named for. "There are few that I trust in this world, Nieriel, and you are one of them. Please. If I cannot be with him, I would ask it of you."

* * *

Translations:

_Havo dad: _Sit down


	7. Chapter 7: As Tempers Rage

**Chapter Seven: As Tempers Rage**

Nieriel and Arwen had spoken little, if at all, over the last two days.

The subject of Nieriel's abject refusal to accompany Aragorn hung like a black cloud over the two, shadowing their movements. Nieriel battled with her guilt the entire time; not only was Arwen at odds with her and her father, but her heartache for Aragorn affected her every waking moment. In the way she moved, like a wraith through the hollows of haunting. In the way her eyes strayed too many times to stare into nothingness. In the way she hardly spoke and kept to herself, so unlike her warm and amicable nature. Even as they sat for supper, which had turned into a small celebration at the females' victory at the Bruinen, Arwen participated little. Her usual heartfelt smile, infectious laughter, and gentle conversation were absent, and Nieriel ached for her friend. Not even the lilt of the harpist, the chortling of the hobbits, or the fine fare could sway Arwen to mirth.

_I know not the love she hinders, _Nieriel thought, glancing to her right where Arwen sat. _Though if that is what it brings, I hope to stay blind and deaf to it forever. _

She looked to Aragorn then, and it was not beneath her notice that he looked just as desolate as Arwen, if not worse. He was unshaven and exhibited dark circles beneath his weary blue eyes, and Nieriel thought he made great care throughout supper to never once look Arwen's way. _It is so silly!_ Nieriel thought, frowning at the ranger. _For so long they were so strong in their love, and Elrond had always disproved, so why the aversion now? It has to be the circumstances that have been laid before him; Aragorn is not a man to be swayed by mere words alone._

_He truly must think this war will be a herald of doom._

She looked to Elrond then, and caught the elf-lord looking at his daughter, his brow furrowed and darkening his features. His eyes flickered to her barely touched plate, her pale face, before he drew them to Aragorn and took the ranger in as well. Disgruntled, he looked back to his own plate and Nieriel thought he made an overzealous effort to focus on his meal.

She sighed. Sometimes she did not understand the emotions others around her exuded; she was thankful for her simple life of loyalty, warfare, and caring for Arwen.

And it was with that notion that she would not be swayed from her decision. If anything, Arwen would need her here now more than ever.

_But I will right this with Arwen, _she thought, her green gaze flickering to her then. _She is my most dearest friend. We cannot go on like this._

"Nee!" Elladan suddenly chirped from across the table, bringing the attention of the majority of those in attendance to her, much to her chagrin. The table was long, packed with all those who had come for the council, and a small smattering of nobles from Imladris. They had gathered in a fine stately dining room, decorated with four large tapestries depicting the seasons on one wall, a fine array of windows displaying the gardens on another, and a number of sconces glowing orange warmth all around them while and the hearth danced lightly near the kitchens. The finest of elven fares, from rare coastal delicacies to forest greens, lightly braised fish to delicately roasted fowl, were showcased and being deliciously devoured. The wine was smooth, as dry as she liked it, and flowed freely over the rims of intricately carved goblets.

It had to be that freely flowing wine speaking for Elladan now.

"Do you recall the first time you faced a nazgûl?"

Despite his chipper tone, Nieriel glowered. It was not a memory she relished. _And what on earth had they been talking about to bring up my encounter?_

Her sweetly acerbic conscience intoned, _we are at a dinner to celebrate their demise, after all._

In any case, Nieriel said coldly, "I do not believe that is appropriate dinner conversation, Elladan." Her cheeks pinkened with a slight blush, but she clamped her jaw firmly to keep it from spreading, willing her embarrassment to flee. She _despised _being at the center of attention; Arwen usually was, and she was fine with that, for the lady so deserved it. Nieriel with her blatant scars, stern countenance, and harsh tone usually won her no followers to her side, and she was more than content to fade into the shadows of her lady.

Her body betrayed her then. Her eyes flitted to Legolas, and she was unnerved to find his keen eye on her, so nauseatingly bright with mirth. She had avoided him readily the last two days; when she wasn't trailing after Arwen in some fashion she had tended to Stormwind or submerged herself in her duties about the House. Her efforts had proved well enough, but he had the uncanny and irritating habit of showing up when she least expected it; if she trained in the yard with the twins, he asked to join…and she would excuse herself for some task. If she went to the city with a group of servant girls for errands, he asked to escort them…and she would leave him to it, returning to the House. The one time she had been able to corner Aragorn and interrogate him, Legolas had appeared not a full minute later, and Nieriel had never turned so fast in the opposite direction, leaving Strider frowning in her wake.

But she had to keep avoiding him. _Why? _She swatted at her conscience, refusing to answer.

"Do tell us about the nazgûl!" The hobbit named Pippin called to her, and she glared darkly at him. He shriveled in his seat and looked at his lap, turning as red as a tomato.

"Do not be so discourteous, Nieriel." Elrohir chided, and she bristled from her chair, glaring at the other twin now. "It is a simple story."

"One determined to humiliate me."

"Are you so proud you cannot enjoy some minor taunting?" Legolas asked. Shocked by his abrasive and _second_ stab to her character, Nieriel twisted a look of fury at him, anger in her belly.

She found him near _laughing. _"You, sir, do not know me well enough to make such claims—"

"Come now, Nieriel," Glorfindel interjected, stealing her attention. He laughed at her reddened face, his golden eyes teasing. "We have all experienced fault in battle. It is not every day one faces a nazgûl and lives; yours is a story we like to tell, to promulgate your prowess."

Nieriel knew better. Glorfindel was like her older brother; he relentlessly teased her, past the point of madness sometimes. "To the point of wishing I were deaf." she snapped. "Tell me, what purpose does it serve to tell the same story, over and over?"

"To bring you down from that awful high-horse of yours." Elladan replied, causing a round of laughter from the hobbits and Elrond, and a small, twinkling smile from Arwen. Even Aragorn chuckled! Nieriel gripped her napkin in her lap with taut fists, her neck surely as red as her face as her mortification multiplied.

"I do_ not_ ride a _high-horse_—"

"It was the Battle of Fornost; the Witch-king had taken the capital the year before, thus he held all of Arnor in his grasp." Elladan started, and Nieriel growled her disdain.

Indignation got the better of her, gripped her heart in a tight, hot fist; for some reason she could not name, she loathed the idea of those at the table (most of whom she was hardly acquainted with!) to know even one of her weaknesses! _Is that it, girl? _Why, they were little more than enemies! _Anyone in particular? _And furthermore, her weaknesses were not what made her! She was strong, a viable foe to be had! _Embarrassed, are you? For whatever reason? You have cared little for what people thought before._

_Has my own conscience ever been so sardonic?_

"Fornost; that is above Bree!" The hobbit Merry chirped. "Not so far from our Hobbiton."

Elladan nodded. "Prince Eärnur of Gondor had rallied an army to march against the Witch-king and his cohorts to win back the kingdom of Angmar, and so Elves, Men, and even some unlikely hobbits tended to his force." he continued, and the hobbits twittered excitedly at this fact, their eyes riveted to the elf. Nieriel glowered from her seat, ignoring Arwen's knowing glance; she was sure her ire was plain to see. "Glorfindel commanded a swift attack from Rivendell, with Elrohir and myself of course, while Gondor attacked from the north. The Witch-king tried to flee, but our combined host was great, and he could not reach the safety of Carn Dûm. My sister and Nieriel were present, and all was going well until two other Black Riders appeared to the aide of their ally."

The hobbits eyes widened simultaneously as Gandalf puffed happily on his pipe at the opposite end of the table as Elrond. He chuckled at their gesture, saying, "Do not stop there, Lord Elladan."

"They came from the south, racing to their brethren's aid on horses black as death, spitting foam, with eyes glowing like embers. Their hooves pounded the earth, tolling doom in their utterance, instilling fear in those that hearkened their arrival. Even though the sun shone bright on that day, with not a cloud to mar the sky, a cold swept the field, so bone-chilling even us Elves grew restless." He couldn't resist the barb, and Boromir rolled his eyes as Aragorn shook his head, his smile telling of his fondness for Elladan. "But not the mighty Nieriel! No! She turned her horse around and, with dear Arwen trailing in her wake, met the nazgûl with all the ferocity and courage I thought anyone could possess."

The hobbits turned to look at her then, eyes wide with wonder. Nieriel itched to leave. She reserved her glare for Elladan alone, who continued with his story with his mirthful grey eyes never leaving her form.

"Armed with only her short double blades, she stilled the Riders in their path. The battle raged at her back but she stood strong, with Arwen as her second, and together they faced the nazgûl without fear. Even when they drew their longswords, shrieked their scorn at her refusal to let them pass, she did not falter. Her arrogance, however, was to be her ruin. For all her bravado she was no match for two nazgûl, and for her all her skill she fell prey to their blades."

"What happened?" squeaked Pippin.

Nieriel growled. "I am right here; obviously I lived."

No one looked at her.

"My brother and I heard Arwen's cry for help and flew across the battlefield to see what had befallen our beloveds." Elladan continued, and Nieriel rolled her eyes so hard it gave her a temporary headache. _Beloveds! Hah! _"We came upon the Ringwraiths in their full assault, and just in time. Nieriel had been struck from her steed and the beast killed. She had fallen at the foot of a nazgûl, her helm discarded. Her leathers were cut from her by one slash, and we could not stop him in time before he sliced her from shoulder to shoulder with another, nearly flaying her chest. Arwen was fending off the other fiend, but faltering, and so we came to the rescue of them both and chased the nazgûl from whence they came."

_His favorite part of the story; where he is the hero_, Nieriel thought bitterly.

Glorfindel picked up the tale then. "The Witch-king, seeing that all was near lost, stormed the field for one final stand, and singled out Prince Eärnur. His horse was so frightened of the black plague that he fled, and Eärnur could not master him, and we thought he would fall that day before the nazgûl. But I rode forth to his aide, and the Witch-king cowered in my presence and fled."

Nieriel rolled her eyes even harder, wondering how anyone in this room could breathe, the pride was so thick. Sam the hobbit asked, "He fled at the mere sight of you?"

"I am without fear; the nazgûl are used to instilling terror in beings the moment they appear, but I do not. This unnerves them." Glorfindel explained simply, and it was true, though it made him sound completely pompous in Nieriel's opinion. "That, and I am unmatched on the battlefield."

"You are getting rather old though, Glorfindel." Elrohir replied, and those at the table laughed. "Perhaps you will not hold that title much longer."

Glorfindel and Elrohir bantered between one another and laughter ensued, and a split second before he parted his lips, Nieriel felt the subtle searing of Legolas's gaze on her. "Where did you get the other scar, my lady?" he asked, and at once the laughter trickled to silence. All eyes turned to her once more, and Nieriel's blush, which had just dimmed, flared bright once more. "The one on your face?"

Nieriel stood from the table so quickly, she startled the widest hobbit to gasp and spill his goblet. She reached for her barely touched plate and then Arwen's own, much to the lady's protest.

"I am not finished!"

"Dessert is to be served." Nieriel quipped shortly, moving from the table.

"You know you do not need to clear the table, Nieriel." Elrond told her, watching as she walked toward the kitchens.

In her mulishness, Nieriel did not reply.

Green gown swirling, Nieriel disappeared into the nearby kitchens and slammed down the plates when she arrived, rolling up her sleeves to begin helping Morah, one of the kitchen girls, with the clean-up.

"Lord Elladan telling his story again?" she asked of Nieriel, her eyes twinkling with her grin even though she was elbow-deep in dirty dish water.

Nieriel, her eyes belying her fury, did not respond.

* * *

Later that evening, after the sun had set and the people of Imladris had settled into their abodes to pass another day, Nieriel and Arwen found themselves unwinding peacefully in Arwen's chambers. The night was calm; no wind rattled, no rain fell, though Nieriel was still in her bad mood from before. Arwen was reading a tome from Elrond's library of lore; whether she had finished the shirt for Aragorn or forgone it Nieriel did not know, had not asked. However she sat beside her lady now, before the frolicking hearth, mending one of Arwen's riding tunics.

"I have not forgotten our conversation from the other night." Arwen said, and Nieriel felt her chest tighten uncomfortably. She had known their silence could not go on forever, but dreaded the discussion all the same.

Nieriel barely glanced up from her work. "It is not up for discussion. I have stated my reasoning. I stand by it."

Nieriel heard the rustling of the pages of the book as Arwen laid it to her lap, but she continued on with her task, knowing to prepare for an argument. When Arwen was adamant about something, she usually persisted until she could not any longer, or a compromise was made. Nieriel had a feeling this was to be one of their more dour disagreements.

Instead, however, there was only silence. Nieriel counted twenty heartbeats before she finally looked up, setting her needle aside. She found Arwen's gaze not on her, but the vision outside the window: a night as black as any other, filled with the soothing sounds of the waterfalls in the distance and the lull of an owl on the subtle breeze.

"When I first met Aragorn while he was under the tutelage of my father, I thought him young and foolish; how did one simply fall in love with someone at first sight? He claimed deep affection for me, but I dismissed him, and we only saw each other fleetingly from time to time. If I had my father's foresight, I would have known not to scorn him from that first meeting, for we missed out on so much time we could have had together…" Arwen paused then, and became lost to her own memories before Nieriel's very eyes. Her slender fingers lovingly caressed the pages of the old tome as her lips curled into a smile and her eyes grew distant, so very distant. "I knew, the night before we pledged ourselves to one another on Cerin Amroth that I would spend whatever time I had on this earth with him."

Nieriel's heart quickened then, though its beat was leaden. Her chest ached for her friend in a way that she could not comprehend, and her throat grew dry. Despite what she and Arwen were going through and the fact that she did not understand such an emotion as devote love, she saw firsthand the pain Arwen was harboring. She did not have to understand their love, however, to believe that such a fable as true love did exist; Arwen and Aragorn were paradigms of its most precious and purest form. She forced herself to say, "Arwen, I cannot—"

Arwen turned to look at her then, and the pitiful, desolate look in her moon-grey depths stole the breath from Nieriel. With trembling lips, Arwen said, "Even if that time were miniscule, I would waste not a second of it, beseech myself for doing so in the past. For if not for him, Nieriel, nothing matters. Not the lifeblood in my body or the ground beneath my feet. I do not care whether this breath shall be my last, or if I will ever see another sunrise. The agony my heart bears… It is intolerable. I know you are blind to what I speak, and I do not ask you to understand; I only ask that you aide me in this."

Nieriel pursed her lips, but could not bring herself to deny her lady. Arwen, in fact, asked very little of her; of course, Nieriel knew her duties as her handmaiden, but that was something else entirely. Arwen never belittled her, never asked her to go beyond her duties, and had always treated her like her dearest, most beloved kin. And though she knew the love she spoke for Aragorn was different from the one she bore Nieriel and could not fathom it, it was the earnestness that Nieriel comprehended; she would do anything for Arwen, like Arwen was so willing to give everything for Aragorn.

"Have you spoken to Elrond of what you ask of me?"

"Father has no idea of my machinations." Arwen replied quickly, and although Nieriel's tone was tight, hope sparked in her eyes.

Nieriel ground her jaw rigidly, nostrils flaring. _What do I risk if I go? _The list was endless: harm coming to Arwen, danger encroaching on her homeland, Rivendell falling under the swift blade of her enemy.

_If those things were to happen, _her conscience chimed, ever the antagonist, _they would happen with you here or not._

_And what do I gain if I agree? _Nieriel's mood darkened just thinking of all she was to endure: endless hobbit niggling— _perhaps new friends?—_, the blackened mood of Aragorn— _though I could get the chance to pester him, as he is proved to be so slippery—, _a precarious journey over terrain she was unused to— _but to be able to explore the land as I so longed to?—, _foes innumerable…

_Ah, but do not forget—_

"If he allows it, I will accompany them." Nieriel said swiftly, to cease her treacherous mind before it seized fully on that thought.

Arwen cast aside her book and reached for Nieriel's hands, grasping them firmly betwixt her quaking own. "Truly?"

"But I shall go no further than Lorien." Nieriel quickly added, knowing that journey alone would take the better part of a month. "We shall find a way, then, to assure Strider's safety beyond that point."

The thought of leaving Arwen so long made her instantly ill at ease. It was not that Arwen was incapable of taking care of herself or that they had not been separated before, but if Arwen's current state was to be a precursor of things to come then she should not be alone without support.

_But of course, she thinks only of him_, Nieriel thought, sighing as Arwen trapped her in a strong embrace. She was not keen on such displays of affection, did not really like to be touched, but Arwen was her one and only concession; and she needed her now more than ever. And so Nieriel returned the gesture, closing her eyes as Arwen squeezed her gently.

"Thank you. You have done me a great favor this day." Arwen pulled back slightly, still clasping Nieriel's shoulders. "We shall talk to father tomorrow."

_And I simply cannot wait for that conversation_, Nieriel thought dryly.

* * *

At least the next morning Arwen waited to approach her father until after he was finished breaking his fast, rather than interrupt his meal. Regardless, Nieriel knew that would not liken his mood toward the idea, and so she and Arwen were both met with his strong, scowling countenance after Arwen had pledged her scheme.

"This has to do with our conversation from the other day." Elrond said, for he was no fool. He pinned Arwen with a gaze full of accusation, but his daughter would not falter, was just as stubborn as he.

Arwen would not deny it. "It is the only solution you would allow me."

Elrond flared with indignation. "I refused to sit back and watch my only daughter ride off to war for a lost cause."

"This war, one you are a harbinger of, is a lost cause? Then tell me, why have you sent nine beings to their doom?" Arwen snipped caustically, much to Elrond's irritation. Nieriel watched as he cheeks mottled with angry red splotches, his shoulders tense.

"Their safety is not of my concern; yours is. And I no more brought on this war than I am a part of it."

"You have called this council, set the wheels in motion. In any case, I have taken care of myself for years."

"That is not the point, Arwen."

"What is the point, _ada_?"

_For Eru's sake. _Nieriel could barely keep up with their verbal sparring; she did not like the way this situation was unfolding.

"There is no way this war can be won on hope alone, which is the only thing at this moment that is guiding it."

"And hope is not enough to spawn desire, to seed faith and courage?" Arwen asked, her own ire piqued. "Is that what you told mother to win her heart?"

"Please," Nieriel interjected, stilling the combatants. They were both similar in this fashion; their tempers were bright if the subject was passionate enough. "Do not quarrel. The matter has been settled."

"You would ask this of your closest companion, to risk her own life to satisfy your sanity?" Elrond questioned Arwen, after his eyes had flickered to Nieriel. "What if she were not to return? Could you live with yourself so easily?"

"My lord Elrond!" Nieriel interpolated, her own face turning dark with a glower. She knew he was angry, but his words were uncouth, unnecessary in their harshness. "I agreed of my own free will; you know I could never be forced. I will do this for Arwen and only Arwen, because I care for her and she has asked me. Nothing more, nothing less."

Elrond snapped his jaw shut, his nostrils flaring. His eyes were hot first on her, before he looked to Arwen once more. She sat tall and resilient under his leaden stare, so unwavering in its fury. For many heartbeats they did not break their gazes, and Nieriel wondered if they would start arguing again.

"I know you do not agree with Arwen's reasoning, but if it is a comfortable medium that we can all agree on that I go, then I am more than willing to satisfy the terms. I told her I will go no further than Lorien, and only if you agree to allow me the leverage. I will not move against you." Nieriel said. She had played the voice of reason before between Elrond and Arwen, but it was not often. They were similar in temperament and often got along, but when they did bicker it was a storm that rocked the skies.

"It is my understanding that Elrohir and Elladan are to be embarking for part of the journey. And I will be under the diligence of some of the most feared arms of Middle Earth, so you shall not concern yourself for my safety." Nieriel continued, and she could see some of the tension leaving Elrond's shoulders. "If your only reasoning for abstaining is because of your peculiar resistance to Strider, let not that hold you back. Please, allow this one concession for Arwen, and do not hold it against her."

Elrond sighed heavily, drawing his eyes to the table as he raised a hand to rub his temples. He aged a lifetime in that single moment, before drawing weary grey eyes up to meet her own.

"You are sure of this?" he asked, his voice thick with graveness. "I will not let you unwillingly traipse into danger."

Nieriel nodded; she had agreed to do it, and so was steadfast in her decision. "I am sure."

Elrond rose, shaking his head. "I do not like it. But if you are certain in this, I will not try to sway you. You are your own woman, and know your way." He left them then, and the tension in the air dissipated fully, though it was replaced with an uneasy, wavering heaviness that tasted thickly of doom.

_A foretelling? _Nieriel could not help but think.

"Shall we practice in the yard?" Nieriel said after a moment of silence, rising as well, smoothing her gown as she went. She was not prone to sentiment, had already expended her limits in the days past, and felt awkward, needing to get her mind off of what had just happened. She did not like the uncomfortable atmosphere any more than the way Elrond left them, his movements stiff and swift.

However, when Arwen did not rise right away, Nieriel glanced at her. "Arwen?"

The lady looked at her, and her smile was pained as she said, "Forgive me; yes. That is a splendid idea."

* * *

"What a fine morning for sport!"

Legolas supposed the dwarf's voice wouldn't grate so much if he did not keep hearing it.

_But along with being ignorant and filled with greed, they do not know when to shut up either._

Legolas forced his eyes away from the dwarven heathens, who were crowding the practice yard, lollygagging and clucking like hens instead of actually swinging those blades they were so proud of. He glanced at Aragorn through the lingering wisps of the morning fog, who stood next to him smoking a pipe, his own practice bow forgone, and asked, "Do they ever stop talking?"

Aragorn quirked a smile. The dwarves were a as far away as they could be from the elves, gathered around their own targets, yet their voices carried easily on the morning breeze. It was starting out to be a clear day, with bright, yellow rays of sun sluicing through the morning fog and quickly dissipating night clouds. However it was a cold morning, with winter not too far off, and Legolas relished the months to come. He always found solace in the snow, felt that nature rebirthed herself beautifully with the changing of the seasons.

"Only if you are lucky," Aragorn replied, taking a long drag of his pipe. "Though it does not look as though today will be one of those days."

Legolas raised his bow, quickly notched an arrow against the string. He glanced toward Aragorn, aiming at the fifty pace target before him.

"What do you think they would do if I turned my aim toward them?"

Aragorn chuckled. "I think you may find yourself well acquainted with how sharp they keep those axes."

Legolas let his arrow fly, hit his target head on. Of course, he would expect nothing less. It was not often he missed, if at all.

"I think you are rather off your mark, Legolas." Glorfindel taunted, his eyes narrowed toward the target. He stood on the opposite side of Strider, had joined the males after breakfast to practice his archery alongside them. "I daresay your arrow is a little to the left."

Legolas quirked a brow and notched another arrow. "Why do you not go stand next to the target, Glorfindel, and you can tell me how close I come this time?"

The golden elf laughed, tossing his head in his mirth. "Think you we could get a dwarf instead?"

"Could you keep it down over there?" Glóin hooted in his dwarvish lilt, drawing glares from the elves and a bemused brow arching from Strider. "We are trying to concentrate!"

"You have not lifted your axe once since you have been out here, Master Glóin. Perhaps you could describe your definition of concentrating to me?" Glorfindel asked, quite diplomatically.

"That would require thinking." Legolas responded loudly enough for the dwarves to hear, raising his bow and arrow. Strider snorted on his pipe, letting out a giant billow of smoke as he tried to curb his laughter. "You ask too much of them, Glorfindel."

Glóin opened his mouth to retort, but before he could express his red-faced anger, Gimli jabbed him with an elbow. "Look! There!" He pointed beyond Legolas, toward the Main House.

Legolas felt compelled to turn; not because of the dwarf's insistence, which was in no way directed toward him anyway, but from some other force entirely. The lady Arwen was traversing the stairs with her handmaiden in her wake, both toting refined lady's bows. They were not speaking, lost to their own thoughts, but even if they did, it would not be heard over the sudden gushing gaggling of the dwarves.

"Lady Arwen! She is a sight for mine poor eyes, that is for sure!"

"Bless my beard!"

"Do you think they will believe us back home in the mountains? A true Elvish lady!"

As Arwen and Nieriel grew closer, Legolas watched as the dwarves drew back, creating a small path for them to walk down. They bowed reverently, Arwen smiling serenely at the creatures while her companion glared at each in turn, her green eyes dark with her dislike.

_I wonder why she wears such a stern face? _Legolas thought, his own eyes watching the females as they disappeared into the barracks, to no doubt retrieve quivers and arrows for their bows. _Though being in the presence of a dwarf would put anyone in a foul mood._

Nieriel's presence intrigued Legolas in a way that continued to grow. He had heard rumors of a strange little girl found by Elrond hundreds of years ago after the War of the Last Alliance, but being so secluded in Mirkwood left the rumors to dwindle, and then fade. The times he had met Arwen she had no companion, but those times were few and far between, and nearly lost in memory. Had she been there and he not noticed? He did not think he would forget her, for some misbegotten reason, but she so easily faded next to the noblewoman.

He had asked about her, of course. Aragorn proved to be less of a font of information than he would have liked, even though he was close her, and the serving girls he had tried to question were more intrigued with him than his questions of Nieriel. She was always busy, and he had yet to capture her for a moment, not counting the time she had so brusquely fended him off in the Halls. Any time Legolas got within earshot of her, Nieriel would take off like a frightened hare. _Again, not how most ladies respond to my presence._ Was she the girl Elrond had found? Had that girl even survived? If not, was she truly the cruel and heartless protector of the Evenstar that had earned herself the moniker Nieriel the Nefarious? _Could they be one in the same?_

_I wonder… _Legolas mused, and he only realized he spoke aloud when Glorfindel looked at him quizzically.

"About what?" he questioned, and Legolas lowered his bow to nod in Nieriel's direction. Perhaps the ancient elf would be of more help? Glorfindel had known her longer than most.

"You ask of Nieriel?" _Again _went unsaid, though Aragorn's gaze was accusing.

"Lord Elrond found her on his journey back from the Siege of Barad-dûr. She was only a child and had been left for dead; burned and slashed, marking her face so. He took her in and gave her a home, because no one did or has ever come forth to claim her. She was mute for one hundred years before she finally began to open up. After that time, she served in the household until Arwen was born, when she then became her handmaiden." Glorfindel supplied, the dwarves listening surreptitiously from their own huddle.

Legolas's eyes widened. "That is she?" _So they are one in the same…_

Aragorn nodded. "She has been Arwen's companion since birth. She is not so hardened as you think; she merely has a difficult time opening up to others."

_That scar… She has harbored it all her life. A reminder of a time when she almost perished. _Legolas thought, watching as the two females embarked back into the sunlight, toting quivers and talking lightly between one another. Arwen kept her gaze to the ground, no doubt trying her best to ignore Aragorn, however Nieriel looked up then, and their eyes met. She glowered at him and Legolas felt his heart quiver, before his face turned as red as a poppy. _That must be why she left the table in such haste._

An unknown albeit uncomfortable emotion clenched a fist around his throat; it somewhat tasted of guilt. Quickly, he looked away and raised his bow to the target once more, though his hands were noticeably moister than they were before. _Shamed, my lord prince?_

The ladies took up a range and target away from the men, though the dwarves made no qualms of hiding their interest in the Elvish noblewoman. Gimli, the damned fool, even made a fabulous show of welcoming the two to _their own training yard_, and wasted no time in beginning to regale the two with tales of his own heroics.

Legolas squinted through the bright rays of sunlight, swallowing away the sudden dryness of his throat. When he could not get it to go away, be shifted his stance, made it wider, then shorter again. He rolled his shoulders to release the tension and blinked a few times. There was no wind, why was he stalling? The last of the fog had dwindled, and he was usually so good at blocking out that which he did not want to hear. _Focus._

However his conscience suddenly could not stop fathoming how Nieriel must look when she was happy, her green eyes aglow and lips upturned. _Does she like to be teased? Could a jest make her laugh? _Along with that, his mind was suddenly rampant on the ways that _he_ could be the one to make her smile.

Glorfindel's roar of laughter drew everyone's attention when Legolas's arrow missed the center of the target completely.

* * *

Translations:

_Ada: _Father


	8. Chapter 8: Under the Surface

**Chapter Eight: Under the Surface**

Throughout the day Nieriel and Arwen had worked on mending their tempers, apologizing for their ill moods as of late and completing small chores about the House. It was not often that they let their humors be so disrupted, but these were trying times on everyone.

Later that night, Nieriel had just finished brushing out Arwen's hair, and had turned to ready her bed. The lady lingered before her mirror, gazing at her own reflection but unseeing, and Nieriel knew without asking she was thinking of Aragorn; the hurt that radiated from Arwen was palpable, choking Nieriel, unsettling her flesh from her bones. She could not imagine what the constant state of turmoil was doing to Arwen, but what could she say to comfort her? It was times like these that she wished Celebrían were here; so wise and nurturing she was. _She would know what to do, what to say_, Nieriel thought, sighing softly as she plumped Arwen's pillows for her.

"Do you think less of me?"

Nieriel drew back from her task, brushing her own silken waves of hair over her shoulder as she peered at Arwen, a frown to her brow. "What?"

"For asking this undertaking of you?" Arwen asked, her gaze meeting Nieriel's through the looking glass. Her eyes shined with emotion and Nieriel frowned deeper, moving to stand next to her and place a comforting hand upon her shoulder.

"What are you talking about, Arwen? Asking what of me?"

"To ask you to accompany the Fellowship…" Arwen's lip trembled and Nieriel felt her heart leap in slight panic. She hated to see Arwen cry; her friend was always so joyous, so strong and resilient. She squeezed her shoulder, drawing Arwen up from her seated position.

"When we spoke to father earlier and he said those things, he was right… So selfishly I asked you to do this, without once thinking of you…"

"Arwen, if I truly minded that much, I would not have agreed. You know that." Nieriel told her lightly, moving to grasp her trembling elbows in her own warm hands.

"It was wrong of me to ask. If you were… If things were to go…wrong…" Arwen shook her head, negating that line of thought. "No. I recant my wish. I do not want you to go."

"Arwen, this is not like you to be so vacillating. I told you I would go and I will." Nieriel squeezed her hands, and then dipped her head to try and catch Arwen's eye. "I am doing it for you. No one else. Therefore it does matter what anyone else says."

"But what will I do if I lose you?" Arwen dared to whisper, bringing her head up. They shared a look then, and Nieriel smiled a sad smile, though it was a smile full of kindness and knowing.

"Then at least it will have been in good heart and for a good reason; for there is no better reason than love." _A love that I may not understand, but would never take from Arwen. _"Besides, how many foes do you know of that have lived to speak against me?"

Arwen began to cry then, and Nieriel watched as the tears coursed unrelenting trails of sorrow down the porcelain slopes of her cheeks. Nieriel grabbed her swiftly into her embrace, lest Arwen see the tears in her own eyes.

"But I love you too, Nee." Arwen murmured through her anguish, and Nieriel clasped her tighter, keeping her eyes closed to bear away the pain. She had to be strong now in a way she was not used to— in the way of the heart— for Arwen.

"I know, Arwen." she said, her voice just above a whisper. "I know."

* * *

Three weeks came and went.

Those at the head of the Fellowship (Gandalf, Legolas, and Aragorn respectively) poured over maps, planning routes and alternative routes with the help of Elrond. Boromir, the twins, and Gimli overtook the task of seeing to the supplies, while the hobbits toured Rivendell with Bilbo. Nieriel and Arwen stayed busy of their own accord, neither group seeing much of each other in that busy time. Yule passed with little celebration, and the new millennium was just days away; whether it would hold strife or salvation no one could yet tell. There had been no news from neighboring lands of any fiendish foes, but everyone walked the days with bated breath, knowing that danger was only a heartbeat away. There had been no discord throughout the lands of Imladris as of late, and so Rivendell continued to play host to her guests until the day came when it was time for them to depart.

Nieriel was strapping Stormwind into his saddle and bridle, the unruly beast of a horse impatient for a ride; he could sense the atmosphere about him was thick with eager apprehension as others were gathered and saddled around him. He held as still as a new foal on his first adventure, and Nieriel laughed lightly as she moved with him, shaking her head softly at his antics.

"Hopefully we will not meet any nazgûl this time around, hm Stormwind?" Nieriel murmured to her horse as she belted his saddle into place; he whickered in response, stamping a gallant hoof. "I doubt we will get into much trouble on a quick journey to Lorien, though."

"You have all you need? Are you not taking your bow?" Arwen asked, her hands fidgeting around Nieriel's saddlebag. She stood watching as Nieriel moved to check Stormwind's hooves, tightened his leathers, and then turned to Arwen to reach for her bag.

"You know I am no good with it; it will only get in the way." Nieriel said, glancing at Arwen as she walked to the other side of Stormwind, her grey cloak billowing about her shoulders. She was dressed in her leather riding breeches, a deep grey in color, a navy bodice of leather with little accent or embellishment, and a tunic of plain navy linen underneath. She had on tall, black leather boots and grey riding gloves, soft yet sturdy enough to fight against the cold of winter now fresh upon them. Her dark, sable hair was pulled back from her face in a tight ponytail, dipping down to tickle her shoulder blades as she moved. Her knives were strapped to her back, in their crisscrossed fashion, and other smaller versions were in place on her person; one along each forearm, one in each boot, and another one at her waist. She did not have a shield; she thought them cumbersome and bulky, and she moved better without one.

In the courtyard at this early hour were Boromir and the hobbits, with Gandalf and the dwarves at the ready as well; the others, Nieriel knew, would be appearing soon. The Fellowship was set to depart when the light of day breached the Trollshaws and brightened Rivendell, and the lilting song of just one or two birds and the orange hint of a glow from the sun through the trees harkened that time was nigh.

"And you packed enough clothes?" Arwen asked, passing Nieriel her second bag full of said apparel. "And food?"

Nieriel smiled. "We have Bill the pony to bear most of our burdens. Besides, you know I am more than capable of salvaging for a meal. How many nights did we spend abroad, with nothing but the forest for company?"

"I recall how awful you are at catching rabbits." Arwen teased, and Nieriel glowered at her, strapping the pack to Stormwind. The horse stamped his irritation at the boisterous noise the dwarves were making saying goodbye to their companions, tossing his regal, dapple-grey, ivory-maned head to express his agitation further.

"That was _one time_." Nieriel defended, digging in her pocket for a handful of sugar cubes to calm her steed.

"I will never forget the sight of you, facedown in the grass, your clothes muddied—"

"Is this the rabbit story again?"

Nieriel groaned. "Must you always pick the most inopportune times to appear?"

Elladan grinned, his own bay horse Warrunner trailing behind him. "It is a great talent of mine."

"You are really to go through with this Nee?" Elrohir asked, stopping next to his brother. Both of their horses were saddled and readied with wares, and as Nieriel glanced behind them, she saw Elrond talking with Gandalf, and Aragorn leading his own horse Brego from the stables. Legolas was with him and the two were talking animatedly with one another, all smiles and laughter. Nieriel tipped her head to the side slightly, thinking that the bright morning light was agreeable with Legolas, that he looked iridescently happy. Her movements waned then and she felt her chest constrict and then bow out as an odd feeling swept her, before she shook it off and pulled herself out of her reverie, conscious of the fact that Elrohir was waiting for an answer.

"As surely as you are." Nieriel replied, her gaze lingering on the elf-prince. She forced her gaze to Elrohir. _Why is that such a hard task? _She forced herself to occupy her mind by patting Stormwind affectionately before grasping his reins. "Afraid I will steal all the good kills?"

Elrohir scoffed. "Hardly. You do not even pose a challenge in competition."

Nieriel raised a single brow. "I will strive to change that in the days to come."

"Here now!" Arwen interjected, hands on her hips. "You are supposed to be looking after her!"

Nieriel turned her raised brow to Arwen then, making to mount Stormwind. "I can well look after myself."

"Ah," A smooth voice interpolated, and Nieriel's spine quivered at the soft, charming baritone. "But you have yet to face _me_."

Nieriel pulled herself into the saddle and whipped her mount around to face Legolas, who was also mounted and grinning at her unabashedly from atop his ivory destrier. She felt her throat tighten and her heart flutter, and it took her a few heartbeats to reply.

"A simple wood sprite? I see no threat there." She felt her shoulders tense and her jaw tic as she inwardly cringed immediately following her words. _Must I act like such an imbecile in his presence? What drives me to say these things, act like this?_

However, Legolas only laughed. "Then you have not met many from Mirkwood."

"I count my blessings at night."

Legolas lifted a hand to his chest in mock wounding, though his grin was mind-numbing. "Are you this sharp-tongued with everyone you meet or just devilishly handsome men such as myself?"

Nieriel felt herself turn as red as the fires of Mount Doom. Not so much from his accusation, but for the fact that she _would not _admit, even to herself, that she found him so devilishly handsome. Because she did not. Not at all.

"Only with those who pester her relentlessly." Elladan pushed his horse between her and Legolas, and Nieriel felt the air around her shift at his intrusion. It felt somewhat…tight all of the sudden. His tone had been clipped, almost poisonous. She turned her green eyes to Elladan to find him sitting tall and straight in his saddle with his grey eyes trained on Legolas, and he did not look all that kind as he surveyed the other elf; his eyes held the bitter bite of disdain. Legolas, in turn, did not once drop his grin, undeterred by Elladan's imposition and surly words.

"Have I been pestering?" Legolas asked her, and his tone bordered on mocking as he swept Elladan with barely a glance before turning his attention back to her; a slight, Nieriel suddenly comprehended.

She then found herself uncharacteristically speechless. She was no courtier, used to pretty words laced with subtle threats or poisonous gazes filled with wrath and contempt. If one could not say things openly and honestly, then they should not be said— or implied— at all! She looked around for Arwen but discovered the lady locked in soft conversation with the hobbits, and knew she would be of no help. _Of course they would choose now to convene! _Flustered, unable to think of her usual scathing retort, Nieriel bit out the truth: "Of course not."

"There, you see," Legolas winked at her and then turned to face Elladan, lifting his chin in his own way of defiance. "The lady has no complaints where I am concerned."

Unexplainably short of breath, Nieriel felt suddenly queasy, needed to get away from these males. "If you will excuse me." She turned Stormwind around, spotted Glorfindel speaking with Elrond and Gandalf, and kicked her horse in that direction.

She did not look back as she approached the three males, and soon enough she drew the attention of those she approached with her prancing horse. Gandalf smiled and ended his goodbyes with both Glorfindel and Elrond before moving to his own steed, being tended to by a stableboy while he had spoken.

"You are not coming?" Nieriel asked of Glorfindel when she saw he was neither armored nor readied to mount.

"It was decided that I should remain here, at least for the time being." Glorfindel responded and Elrond nodded his agreement. "This is a mission that requires a measure of secrecy. I tend to draw attention," Glorfindel smiled, a sparkling, knowing smile, as he said, "But only now and again."

Nieriel just barely kept from rolling her eyes. "I will miss your cunning and skill on the battlefield, true."

"Do not count me out for long." Glorfindel replied, and Nieriel could not help but smile softly; she knew Glorfindel would find the battlefield as surely as her own heart would.

She turned her eyes to Elrond then, and she felt her stomach knot in discomfort. It was not often that she was away from her home and her kin, and Elrond was her father in most every sense of the word. She felt her throat tighten and she had to swallow thickly against the wave of emotion that so suddenly encapsulated her as he reached up to grasp her gloved hand twined about her reins.

"I await your return with bated breath." he told her gently, and Nieriel smiled, although it wavered. She cleared her throat to allow her to speak, but still the words were like gravel as they passed her lips.

"I will not be long; only to Lorien and back. And I have some of the best company of Middle Earth." Elrond smiled and clasped her hand even more tightly, as if trying to relay his emotions through that simple gesture. With his own grey eyes bright, Nieriel felt them, a caress to her battered soul.

"Be safe, Nieriel. You are dear to me."

Nieriel could not stop her eyes from burning. She blinked, telling herself it was the dust brought up from the many stamping hooves in the courtyard. "Do not worry for me, Lord Elrond. I have much to accomplish in this life yet and am eager to withstand such challenges." Pride seized her briefly, before a gentler emotion took hold of her heart. "But I would ask of you one thing."

Elrond tipped his head for her to continue and so Nieriel murmured, "Take care of Arwen."

Elrond gripped her hand one last time before he dropped it and stepped back as Boromir called for those who had not done so to mount. Nieriel saw movement from the corner of her eye and glanced to her left to find Arwen rushing to her, reaching up for Nieriel's hands.

"I will miss you, Nee. Write to me if you can." Arwen said, just as the light of the sun broke over the surrounding forest. It was a bright golden light, and with it a burst of birdsong mingled with the fall of water in the distance; one of Nieriel's favorite melodies.

"I shall be too busy fighting orcs." Nieriel winked with a smile she did not feel as Arwen dropped her hands and stepped back from Stormwind, her own clasped before her bosom. Her face was pale, drawn, and she looked more sad than anything. Nieriel perceived her trembling slightly, her grey eyes luminous with unshed tears.

"Watch after Aragorn, but do be safe." Arwen implored, her voice hoarse against her sorrow. "For who else do I have if not you?"

"I suppose Elladan and Elrohir would not make for good company when trying on dresses and baubles." Nieriel retorted, desperately trying to make light of the situation for her own sanity; she felt it slipping, coursing rapidly towards despair.

"I will see you come the new year." Nieriel told Arwen, her chest heavy as she forced herself to stay strong, stay hardened against the anguish threatening to override her senses.

"And this war will be over." Arwen said, and Nieriel nodded her agreement as the call was made to move out. Nieriel glanced over to see Gandalf at the head of the group, the hobbits following him, with Gimli and Boromir and then Legolas and Aragorn bringing up the rear. She glanced at Arwen one last time and shared a smile with her dearest friend, before she turned Stormwind around to meet Elladan and Elrohir, and they, too, took to the road.

* * *

The first night they slept by the Bruinen, and Nieriel found comfort in its lulling waves, its soothing rushing. They kept to its path for the next day and camped again by its side at night, for Aragorn preferred the cover of the river. It hid their scent on the ever-changing wind, allowed them to freshen their stores of water and sate the horses, and it provided an easy way to hide their tracks if need be. Though the foes they had encountered thus far were none, it did not hurt to be prepared.

Every night without fail Nieriel took first watch, scouted the land to make sure they had not been followed and would not find compromise. She could not sleep otherwise. Her nightmares had been dormant as of late, but she secretly feared that being out under constant duress, without Arwen, and the enemy creeping ever closer, that she would fall prey to them once more. Only Strider knew she suffered from such trivial things, and she did not relish sharing yet another weakness with strangers.

It was on the third day that the entourage found themselves inundated with a pelting rain, one that slowed their travels so much that Aragorn called a halt to their cavalcade midday, to take shelter in a copse of trees under the looming shadow of a small outcropping of rock. The hobbits were slowing their course, and Nieriel secretly dreaded that the month she had planned for this excursion was going to be drawn out a lot longer than she anticipated.

_This is only the third day, you do not know that for sure, _her conscience tried to tell her, but her sodden mood matched her sodden clothes.

She glanced among the hobbits as they huddled together around a small fire, their faces weary but joyful in the dancing light. The twins had moved to scout ahead while Legolas had offered to double back with Gandalf, just to be sure they were not being followed. Gimli was sharpening his axe, his heavy eyes on Boromir who smoked a pipe under a thick canopy of branches, his hood drawn. Aragorn had pulled out a map and had it laid on a dry patch of ground, and Nieriel walked to him now, dipping down next to him on her haunches.

"We are to go down through Hollin then?" Nieriel asked, for she knew their path, but only up to a point. With the land in turmoil the way it was their course was ever changing, and Aragorn loathed to leave the comfort of the swirling Bruinen.

He glanced at her now, before hefting a heavy sigh. "We need to cross the mountains at some point, but our choices are few."

Nieriel knew this, but she did not come over to speak of the journey with Aragorn.

"You were a fool to cause such strife between you and Arwen before leaving Rivendell. After telling her that your years of courtship meant nothing to you, you leave on a journey that could see you dead? And you are no fool, Aragorn, so what perturbs me is why you did it. In any case, do you know what that did to her? How she suffered throughout the days?"

Aragorn glanced at Nieriel, his blue eyes hard. "I did not tell her it meant nothing."

"That is what she took from it. And tell me, what was she to think?" Nieriel would not be light on Aragorn of this; she had weeks of pent up frustration to expel on him. They were exceedingly close, with many years of friendship between them, and so she felt inclined to tell him how she felt without fear of retribution. That, and she would do this for Arwen, for the lady had not the chance before Strider had left with barely a glance behind him.

_So heartless, so cruel. _Nieriel had pondered, and not for the first time. _Could I have been wrong about his affections for her?_

Aragorn rolled up the map, preparing to stand. "She was to think that I was doing it for her; to keep her safe, so my enemies would not target her. She was to think that I did it because I am no king and have nothing to offer her, and any outcome of this war will not change that."

"That is ridiculous Aragorn." Nieriel stood as well, her swords brushing her back. "You have hurt her, almost irrevocably. Do you care naught for her feelings? You avoided her for weeks, did not even speak to her when you left."

"I will discuss this no further." Aragorn said flatly, though his eyes still held that hard glint. "What is done is done."

Nieriel frowned at him. "I do not know what has overcome you Aragorn, but this is not like you. As your friend, I will forgive you for your slights against Arwen and in the coming weeks will support you. But you need to begin to believe in yourself; you are more than the heritage you are so shamed of. I have told you this many times before."

Aragorn shook his head, as if he did not agree. "I will not claim lineage with one so weak and so foolish as Isildur."

"His house was and still is a proud one Aragorn; and because Isildur made a mistake does not mean you will make the same one. Look at you now, walking alongside the Ring."

"For how long?" Aragorn spat, his eyes flickering to Frodo, who sat unbeknownst to their conversation with his own jovial friends. "How long until it sinks its claws into me?"

"It will not." Nieriel said firmly, with all the conviction she felt in the matter. "You are stronger than that, and have overcome greater things."

"His blood runs in my veins. The blood of one who would damn us all."

"But you will not share his fate!"

Aragorn walked to Brego and Nieriel followed, watching as he stowed the map back into one of his saddlebags.

"Arwen asked me to come for you," Nieriel said, laying a hand on his shoulder. Aragorn stilled, though Nieriel watched as his hand fisted on the straps, tight and unyielding. "To have your back. You know it is no small thing for me to leave her side, but she asked it of me _for you_. However, I am here for you both, because you are dear to me almost as much as she. And without you, she will never be happy. When this is over, and it will end Aragorn, I ask that you mend ways with her, because the love you two possess for one another is ethereal, unknown to this world. It shall not be cast aside lightly."

Aragorn's shoulders tensed and Nieriel dropped her hand and stepped away, allowing Strider to finish his task. He glanced at her over his shoulder, a brow quirked. "And of you and Legolas?"

Nieriel frowned again, a black gesture. She honestly did not understand the question. "What is this you speak?"  
"It is not without notice you make yourself scarce when he is around, Nieriel. Three weeks of close proximity will do that. Do you think to be so lucky when there are so few of us now?" Aragorn turned, a slight smile turning his lips. "I do not think I have ever seen anyone avoid another so thoroughly. On the contrary, he has asked about you multiple times."

Nieriel tensed, heat creeping up her neck, and her heart thundered. "What of me?"

"This and that." Aragorn hedged, and Nieriel hated him for it. She moved to walk away, her shoulders back and stiff.

"Are you not curious about him?"

"Hardly." _Desperately._

Aragorn made a sound of indifference, one that was the antithesis of the sentiments coursing through her own mind.

* * *

Later that night, the rain had since commenced to a deluge and they had made it little farther than they had that afternoon. They decided to camp by the Bruinen for one more night, under the shelter of another copse of trees, and then begin to head across the rollicking fields of Eriador in the morning, downpour or not. The journey would leave them largely uninhibited, yet Nieriel was slightly excited for her journey south. Usually, she had not the time to enjoy the scenery, had all but rushed to battle, but the slow pace afforded to them thanks to the hobbits and their mountain ponies was refreshing in a way she was not willing to admit.

Especially since there was little else the hobbits could take claim to.

They were loud, boisterous, and loved their food as much as they liked their tankards; already, Pippin had soaked up his own share of ale. They smoked their pipes as heartily as they laughed, and though this terrain was unlike that of what they were used to, they complained little. They loved to tell tales of their own home while taking in the unknown land around them with wonder, and Nieriel watched them many a time with an inquisitive eye as they reveled in the height of the trees, the loud crashing of the river, a wild creature dashing out of sight.

_So naïve, _she thought, chewing on her bread with a gentle sigh.

She did find a certain delight in studying her traveling companions. The dwarf she avoided, and just as well tuned out. However she eluded Legolas more, which was proving to be exceedingly difficult, especially when he made no qualms of staring at her openly (she noticed more than she would have liked, and he noticed that _she _noticed, which would infuriate her) or coercing her into speaking. He kept his camaraderie with the twins, Strider, and Boromir for the most part, though Nieriel observed that Elladan remained slightly reserved, did not engage the Mirkwood prince as much as his brother. He would drop to the end of the group to talk to her when he was not riding ahead with his brother to scout the land.

She distrusted Boromir more so than when she had first met him in Rivendell; more than once, she caught him eyeing the chain tucked away under Frodo's shirt, his eyes glittering with unvoiced desire. He would try to speak to the hobbit, without engaging any of his brethren, but Frodo proved to have a sense about him and did not take to the man lightly. Nieriel noticed that this perturbed Boromir, and after taking his leave of Frodo he would frown heavily, his gaze distant. Gandalf spent his time telling the hobbits stories as they passed down along the river, delighting them with battle stories or visions of the scenery they traversed in a time passed. So Nieriel kept to herself, bringing up the tail of the group. It suited her well enough, for she was able to savor the sights around her.

The fire was warm and she basked in its orange glow now, holding her boots near the flame to warm her feet. The hood of her cloak was drawn to keep her head warm, for the air was chilled with winter now in the throes. The horses and ponies were tied together a ways away, desaddled and resting for the evening. The others of the Fellowship, as well as their extra companions, lazed by the fire, although Legolas and Aragorn had doubled back to make sure they were not being followed and that the area was indeed safe.

"Have you ever seen such a sight?" Sam mused from his own spot, bundled against the cold in his clothing. _If he was smart, he would have packed a cloak, _Nieriel thought. His eyes, however, did not relay his suffering, even as he shivered, but were rather wide with wonder, gazing at the Misty Mountains through the trees in the distance. "I have only seen hills of the Shire; never mountains quite like this."

"You will make their acquaintance soon enough." Boromir said, and Nieriel snorted into her food. _To everyone's misfortune._

"Ah, and what a wonderful acquaintance it will be! The mountains are splendid boys, the halls of the gods!" Gimli said, and Nieriel rolled her eyes.

"What else have you seen Gimli?" Merry asked, and the dwarf sighed loudly, tipping his head up to the stars. Through the rainclouds and the downpour their twinkling light was muted, but he looked anyway, a smile tilting his burly red beard.

And although the dwarf's voice grated, she listened. Nieriel strived for a taste of the wilds, would give anything to have her own stories to tell of lands so distant. _That is, if I even wanted to talk to them, _Nieriel thought, and quickly deduced that she would not, in fact, give anything to have her own stories to tell.

"The great fields of Rhovanion, home to Men, Elves, and Dwarves alike. The great sprawling river Anduin, stretching from the Grey Mountains all the way to the coast! I've never been there, but dwarves are not over fond of water, you see. Ah, but you must see the proud Iron Hills one day! And Erebor! A sight in itself, once we reclaimed it from that heinous dragon. Tis where my cousin Dáin resides as King under the Mountain."

_To see these things for myself… _Nieriel opened her mouth to ask for more, but shut it quickly. _To speak to a dwarf!_

"What about Rhûn?" Pippin asked, and Gimli balked.

"Bah! Easterlings habit that place, lad. You do not want to go there. Beyond the sea of Rhûn is a vile place; we dwarves prefer the mountains."

"All the more to rot in." Elladan supplied, and Nieriel barked out a laugh that had Boromir grinning as well.

"What are Easterlings?" Pippin asked, and Nieriel could almost wish to be so ignorant.

"Minions of Sauron." Boromir said, and Nieriel had to fight the black feeling of hatred that so easily consumed her at their mentioning. "Evil men, willing to do his bidding."

"They ride oliphants!" Sam said excitedly, and Nieriel cut him a scathing look.

"That is nothing to be excited about." she snapped, causing the hobbits to look at her with wide-eyed fear. "If you had ever encountered an oliphaunt, you would know that."

"You have?" Sam asked, his eyes bright.

Nieriel glared, and Sam turned away. Pippin asked then, "What other beasts have you seen?"

Nieriel turned back to her meal, unwilling to answer. Gimli supplied, "We have gone on raids to the Sea of Rhûn to herd Kine of Araw. They are hardier, better for long hauls."

"White oxen." Frodo smiled then, his voice soft. He looked tired tonight, Nieriel thought, and for the first time she wondered why Gandalf and Elrond deemed it pertinent a legion of hobbits partake in this journey.

_Nine companions to face the nine Ringwraiths, yes I quite know. _Nieriel thought of what Elrond had told her. _But they are rumored to never leave their homes; for truth, I have heard Sam speak as such. _She tilted her head slightly, looking through narrowed eyes at one hobbit after another, her eyes landing lastly on Frodo. Her eyes narrowed further as her eyes drifted to the Ring around Frodo's neck, and she felt her shoulders relaxing, her breath falling softer as a cool whispering lilt in a language she did not know swirled about her. Abruptly, she snapped her eyes back up, turning her attention back to her bread. _So what would make them suitable to trek the wilds of the Middle Earth?_

"Their bounty is what makes this," Boromir held up the Great Horn, slung around his shoulder to rest against his hip. "Blown anywhere in Gondor, and no one can disregard its cry."

"I have seen great eagles, their wingspan larger than homes are tall," Gimli continued, as if Boromir had not spoken, which earned himself a glare. "Spiders, bigger than the ponds you likely used to frolic in. Wargs are a constant crick in me spine, but my most favorite prey to hunt."

"Do you think we will see any on our journey?" Pippin asked, and Nieriel leveled him with an angry glare.

"I shall repeat myself, but only at your peril: you had better pray not."

_To _want _to meet a warg? _Nieriel shook her head. _Daft. Immeasurably daft._

She finished her bread then and stood, ready to take first watch, having had enough of the babbling. She shifted the hood of her cloak to make sure it covered her fully before grabbing her swords and her whetstone and walking toward the bushes where the horses were tied. Stormwind saw her and perked, his regal head tilted, and she smiled when he stamped and jostled at her approach. She reached out to stroke his dampened mane whilst digging in the sporran at her waist for a bit of sugar, before offering a handful to the beast.

"I have a feeling you will be one of the only beings to keep me sane on this journey." she told him softly, and he whickered low, his golden eyes sparkling.

Nieriel patted him once more than then looped her scabbards loosely over one arm, pocketed her whetstone, and moved to the nearest tree. She examined it at length, before deeming it suitable for her purpose.

With surety and nimbleness, Nieirel began to climb, unable to stop a smile from spreading her lips. Her boots were firm, never once slipping, and her ungloved hands pulsed from the beat of the earth as she ascended. A strong, whipping wind threatened to shed her of her cloak as rain pelted her face, but Nieriel reveled in it, and soon enough a grin had stolen her features. To be one with nature! She felt her nerve endings tingling, the hairs on the nape of her neck dancing. She rose faster, grasping the creaking branches with eagerness, as she inhaled the scent of rain, of the earth around her.

_Arwen would love this, _Nieriel thought, the rain falling harder. She was almost to the top now, where she would perch for the night and watch the fields and across the river from afar.

Higher she rose, her face tipped to the sky, when suddenly she broke free of the confines of the forest, the wind tossing her hood free of her head. Nieriel laughed, the sound lost in the torrential storm, and closed her eyes, tipping her head to the raging of the winds. She let the rain caress her face in a smooth yet errant gesture, before moving to the side opposite where the wind was fiercest. She pulled up her hood once more, for the elven cloak would keep her warm, and tucked herself against the trunk of the tree, one leg sprawled long out on the thick branch before her. The other she dangled, and she reached around to place one of her blades atop while the other remained strapped to her back.

She reached into her sporran and drew out her whetstone, a gentle sigh escaping her now flattened lips. _Yes, Arwen would love this, _she thought, drawing her blade from her scabbard. She placed the scabbard behind her, looping it over her other arm, and inspected the curve of her sword, watching as the raindrops winked at her from the shining silver.

_It has only been three days_ _and I miss her so, _Nieriel thought, a frown marring her brow. _And I am to push through another month?_

_I suppose Arwen would be telling me to enjoy it. To make the best of the situation I am in, no matter what_. When Nieriel thought about befriending her companions, it made her stomach clench.

_Making the best of time spent with a dwarf? _Her sudden frown deepened into a scowl.

_I would rather throw _myself _into the fires of Mount Doom._

* * *

**_AN: _**Bear with me guys! I know it's been slow going, but I most definitely promise things are going to pick up in a bunch of exciting ways. You all have been simply superb so far! I cannot be more grateful for the wonderful feedback I have been receiving. The amount of support is inspiring and motivational! Thank you, each and every one of you who have liked, favorited me or my story, and for all your wonderful compliments.


	9. Chapter 9: Deception

**Chapter Nine: Deception**

Nieriel was beginning to think this expedition would be the one that would see her to her grave.

Not because it was perilous, or full of trickery, or unbound with treacherous terrain.

No.

Because she was sure the sound of the dwarf's voice would drive her there.

For nearly a week, bloody _week_, Nieriel had listened to Gimli talk about the Iron Hills, the Blue Mountains, Moria, the greatness of Erebor, the Quest, his family, his kin, his drinking prowess, his weapons… His words never ceased. And it was always about _him_. Did one person have so much to talk about? Who knew that dwarves were so longwinded? _With only idle prattle in those bulbous heads of theirs, no wonder they have no room for wisdom such as us Elves._

Oh the hobbits liked Gimli's banter well enough. Gandalf seemed bemused by the dwarf's behavior. Even Aragorn and Boromir tolerated his rantings, seemed to enjoy them at times. Elladan and Elrohir were less inclined to divulge in conversation, though true to character Elladan rankled the dwarf whenever he could. Legolas's acerbic comments were even more in excess than Elladan's, for he seemed to like the dwarf even less. Nieriel, on the same hand, kept her mouth shut. She spoke little, and almost solely to Aragorn, the twins, or Gandalf. She did not know these other people, this motley group of wanderers. And she had no desire to get to know them. The journey to Lórien would see her returned to Rivendell in less than two months' time. And then she would never see these beings again.

_A fact that I am fine with. _Nieriel told herself, barely keeping from rolling her eyes as Gimli told yet _another_ tale of his cousin Balin.

The path they followed, led by Aragorn, saw them through the rolling green plains of Eregion, along the Misty Mountains. It was dotted with rocky crags, copses of pines, and barren thistle bushes, and home to creatures large and small. Nieriel enjoyed the wide expanse of land and the sense of peace it brought her, and she found herself readily connecting with nature over every hilltop she crossed, every tree she passed, each note of the lark's song. She even enjoyed the hard face of the mountains, ever-changing yet so steadfast with every new mile they covered.

She swayed lightly with the tread of Stormwind as the sun sparkled overhead, chasing away the clouds from the rainstorm the night before. The cold, winter winds whipped against the mountains to her left, tossing her hair about her head in errant strands. The worn ribbon she used to keep her hair pulled back barely did its diligence today because the wind was so rampant, and some loose tendrils had snaked from her usual perfect style, irritating her immensely. She raised a hand to brush away her plight, catching the scathing glance that Elrohir cut Gimli as he laughed loud enough to rouse a flock of birds from a nearby bush.

"You will draw every enemy within a hundred-mile radius directly to us if you keep guffawing like that." Elladan snapped at Gimli, and Nieriel could not contain a smirk. Elladan had a short temper, and if he had a list of top-five things most despised, Dwarves would be a tight third, neck and neck with trolls.

"Bah!" Gimli dismissed him with a single word, and Aragorn laughed aloud at the look of black disdain on Elladan's face. "You Elves and all your glowering and naysaying!"

Nieriel did in fact roll her eyes then. Hard. _Better to be a naysayer than sound a fool._

"And you!"

Nieriel glanced at Gimli at the sound of his booming voice, and became startled when he accusingly pointed at her from where he walked beside her.

"You are the worst of them all! Why, the Dwarves tell tales that Elvish women are beautiful beyond measure, with smiles to rival the light of the sun! But your countenance is so _sour_!"

Nieriel just kept her jaw from slackening as those around her burst into laughter, Aragorn and Gandalf the loudest of all.

"And I have never heard a lilt so full of hate and scorn; are not you females supposed to be light of discord, melodious in tune? It is not starlight that glimmers through your soul but hellfire!"

Nieriel's fingers itched for a blade; her arm jerked in the direction of the one sheathed along her left forearm as Elladan howled with laughter.

"You tread thin ice, dwarf," she warned, her voice low, her eyes pitting that hellfire Gimli so readily accused her of.

But the dwarf was not to be afflicted by her poisonous gaze. His laughter rumbled as he walked alongside her, shifting his axe to his other shoulder.

"Have you had such a hard life that you do not know what it is like to smile? To laugh?"

"My life is none of your concern." Nieriel snapped.

"I am merely curious!" Gimli defended his actions, albeit too late. "You seem to go against all I know of the Elves."

"And you have readily exemplified what it means to be a dwarf, many times over this journey."

Legolas snorted a laugh, and Nieriel had to stop herself from glancing in his direction. More times than not over the course of their quest thus far she found her eyes trailing to him, catching herself before they landed and she made a fool of herself. She was still unsure, or perhaps she did not want to admit to, why she was so drawn to the Prince of Mirkwood. With his long platinum hair, sky-blue eyes, laughing smile made of pink lips…and as if all that was not envy-inducing enough, he had the bone structure of a god as well! And a body to match, Nieriel _would not_ admit. Taller than she and lithe, she noticed (and only because she wanted to take in account all the Fellowship, lest they become her enemy one day) that he was very well-built, with a broad chest that tapered to a narrow waist and thick, strong legs.

When the dwarf was not talking it was Legolas who reviled the group with a wit or a tale, and Nieriel had found herself many times over calmed by the rolling pitch of his baritone, listening from her position at the back of the group.

Though she would so staunchly deny it.

She was not so fickle to fall for a pretty face or sweet words.

"Come now, Nee," Aragorn said of her, drawing Nieriel's piercing gaze. "He means no harm."

"Only to my sanity." Nieriel bit back.

"I would have some questions of you, she-elf." Gimli stated staunchly, and before Nieriel could open her mouth to rebuke him, he asked, "Is it true you are the elf-child that Elrond found on his journey home from the Siege of Barad-dûr? With no telling of how you came to be in the fields, so far from Elf-kind?"

Nieriel had never denied her being no matter how badly it chafed, but she felt her spine stiffen uncomfortably before she notched her chin high and nodded once.

"And you do not know your family, where you are from?"

A slice of her head had her answering Gimli's question, and he seemed to ponder her with dark eyes. "I have heard much about you, she-elf. She Who Was Found, my kind calls you. Possessing a skill with blades that is unmatched, with movements as quick as the churning of the river, and the ability to morph into the darkness of any forest, predator to all."

Nieriel thought she could begin to like Gimli's rantings if he continued as such; normally, she abhorred any attention to her person, but she was curious to hear what others thought of her. Had she made such a name for herself over the centuries? She had to mask her smug smirk, turning emerald eyes, dark with foreboding, down to the dwarf.

"Is that all they say?"

"In the Shire they call you that, as well as Nieriel the Nefarious." Merry cut in, and Nieriel's gaze pierced him then. She lifted a brow and willed him to continue, but instead he flushed from his hairline clear into the neck of his tunic and looked away.

"They say that you are faithful to Lord Elrond and his kin, and no one else." Frodo interjected, and Nieriel looked at him then. "They also say you love nothing more than killing goblins and trolls, but especially orcs. That you live for bloodshed."

_There is no good said about me then?_

Everyone was listening now, eyes riveted on Nieriel; it made her skin crawl. Gimli peered up at her, one brow raised, as he asked in hushed awe, "Is it true that you eat orc innards to break your fast?"

Nieriel reeled back from the absurdity of his question as a laugh bubbled its way up into her throat; she had to bite her tongue from letting it escape.

"I will admit that my morning meal has been lacking as of late." Nieriel hinged, and Gimil's eyes widened as his lips parted in disbelief. Nieriel did not miss the look of astonishment passed between the hobbits, and just as she was about to recant on the ridiculous notion, her words were sent astray.

"Leave her be, dwarf." Elladan interjected, and Nieriel glanced at him from beneath smooth lashes. "She does not answer to anyone, least of all a dwarf."

"She has her own tongue, does she not? If she did not want to answer to me, then she would not be coerced to." Gimli returned in kind, and Nieriel felt her lips twitch, but she ducked her head before the smile took her. Elladan was not someone who was used to having another meet him toe to toe; being a lord and a fearsome being, the majority of those he encountered bowed to his shadow, or at the very least respected him. However Gimli fell into neither category, and for as much trouble Elladan gave him, the dwarf gave it right back.

"You do not know when to stop, do you?"

"Enough of this." Boromir so suddenly cut in, his tone gruff. Nieriel looked to him then, where he rode next to Aragorn. His hard, storm-grey eyes glinted in the light of the afternoon sun, his face lined with tension and annoyance. "You bicker like children."

"Children!" Gimli boomed. "At least I am trying to make the best of this quest instead of scowling and grimacing at every turn."

Nieriel could not help it; she smiled as Boromir and Gimli broke into bickering. For one who seemed so grim as the Captain-General of Gondor did, he was rather quick of wit.

"So he is not as immune to the nattering of the dwarf as he would have us think." Legolas said, sidling up next to her, a grin so easy on his features. Nieriel nodded once at him, her throat suddenly tight, making it difficult to breathe. Had the wind shifted?

"The dwarf can be rather rankling." Legolas continued, and Nieriel snorted.

"That is an understatement. I wonder at times who will be the first to lose their mind." Nieriel found herself responding, eliciting a string of rumbling laughter from Legolas.

_He does have such a smile… _She felt her chest warm, liking the sound of his laughter, of the way his lips curled. She shook her head and cleared her throat to dispel that troublesome notion, but as Legolas turned to look her way she found she could not so readily turn her head away.

"I would beg of you an apology," Legolas said then, his smile turning sheepish as his laughter ceased. "That night at the feast… I did not know speaking of your scar would cause you such discomfort. I merely wanted to know more about you."

Nieriel felt her face heat at the memory of her behavior that night, and she suddenly wanted to reach up and hide her scar; at the very least, she finally tuned her gaze away. Her hand twitched to move as she thought, _embarrassed of your past? Of the female it made you?_ She forced the loathing from her voice as she said, "It is nothing."

"Your history," Legolas's voice was soft. "It is not a gentle one."

"Those memories do not come easily to me." Nieriel found herself admitting, and a weight shifted within the confines of her chest, making her suddenly uncomfortable in the saddle. _What would compel me to share that?_

She felt his eyes on her, but she could not bring her own back up. However it was not to stave away from pity; no, the feelings of most others had ceased to matter to her a long time ago, as well as what they thought of her. She needed nothing from anyone, and had learned to live that way. Still her voice was not so acidic as she replied, "If you will pardon my behavior, I can forgive you your own grievances." _For I have acted a fool many a times in your presence._

"In that case, I hardly think we will be even…at least not for a while." Legolas's tone had turned light, and Nieriel glanced at him then with a raised brow. "You have many behaviors of which to pardon."

Nieriel found herself laughing, the sound so abrupt it drew the attention of more than one pair of eyes. So startled she was by the behavior she stopped just as tersely, though the lightheartedness that came with the joyful behavior lingered. "I am no serpent, sir; I will ask you to forgive my wretched behavior that evening as well. It is not like me to be so churlish."

"I look forward to learning your true character then." Legolas said, and Nieriel felt the weight in her chest shift again; this time, it brought a new kind of distress, one she had never felt before. It accompanied a rather vile heating of her neck, and she could feel the crimson creeping, creeping up her flesh—

A rustle to her left, a shadow overtook her, and Nieriel glanced sharply in that direction as the air altered and a being made their presence known.

"She is only to journey to Lórien," Elladan interjected, his voice gruff, deeper than normal. "You will not know her for any amount of time beyond that."

Nieriel frowned at his tone, tilted her head at his words. But before she could speak for herself (had everyone so suddenly forgotten that she could?) Legolas replied, and his words, as well as his gaze, were directed solely toward her.

"You will not make the full journey to Mordor?"

"She is needed in Rivendell." Elladan cut her off once more, and Nieriel closed her mouth on her reply. "That is where her home is, where she belongs."

Nieriel frowned deeply over at Elladan, but his hard gaze was locked on Legolas. _Where is this behavior coming from? _She looked at Legolas, but in turn found him staring at Elladan, a single, slim brow raised in question. In abject dismissal, he turned his gaze back to Nieriel.

"You will not make the full journey to Mordor?" he asked again.

Nieriel blinked. She felt wrathful waves of heat emanating from Elladan, and would have wagered her best blade that he had just growled. But why the hostility? Did the two have some background that she was not aware of? She knew Elladan travelled much, and that the kingdom of Mirkwood was an isolated one, but perhaps they had met each other on the field on rotten terms?

"Elladan speaks the truth; I ride only to Lórien. I cannot leave my lady for long." Nieriel replied, taking her gaze from Legolas to Elladan. "Do you two know one another? I cannot help but think that you have crossed paths before."

"He has never been so fortunate." Legolas said, and before either could respond he kicked his mount to canter up to Aragorn, leaving Nieriel thoroughly and utterly confused in his wake.

"What was that about?" she asked, after tearing her eyes from Legolas to look at Elladan. He was staring after the wood elf, his features twisted with contempt, and Nieriel thought she did not like the look of him. "Elladan? Do you know Prince Legolas from somewhere other than here?"

"No." Elladan said flatly, and if Nieriel were any judge she would suspect that he pulled Warrunner closer to her. "I have only met him fleetingly in the past."

"Then why are you acting this way?"

Elladan ground his jaw, so much like his father then, and said, "It is nothing."

* * *

Night fell slowly, as it did in the open field, and the ragtag group of wanderers took shelter along the mountain, underneath a high outcropping of rock and next to a small pool of water, which was replenished recently from the storm the night before. The hobbits set out to making a dinner of rabbits and squirrels, which Boromir and Aragorn had caught, while Nieriel and her kin scouted the area, making sure it was safe. With every day that passed the crew drew closer to the ruins of Ost-in-Edhil, which would lead them to the pass over the mountains.

They had forgone the High Pass east of Rivendell because of the dangers lurking on the other side, and more times than not the pass itself was overwrought with orc-kind. They would try for the pass of Caradhras, though there had been much argument on that front as well. From there they would travel to Lórien, and then through Rohan to Gondor, and finally unto Mordor.

After tending to her horse and shedding her riding leathers for the night, Nieriel took a seat next to Aragorn before the large fire Gandalf had made, and Samwise smiled gaily at her as he handed her a flattened rock with a few potatoes and a rabbit leg on top. Elladan and Elrohir had decided to scout ahead for the journey to come through the evening, and that left the remaining comrades of the Fellowship to dine on their cuisine and converse.

"I know it is probably not the finest fare you have had, and most definitely does not compare to orc innards, but I consider myself well enough about a pot." Sam told her, and Nieriel felt her lips twitch in a smile. Sam was the one hobbit who spoke to her the most, or at least tried to; every night he engaged her in some way, until her lack of replies sent him off to someone else. More times than not, he felt the need to apologize for some affront about the journey; as if she were a delicate maiden, unused and untried to feral land.

"Thank you Sam," Nieriel felt obliged to say, and she watched as the hobbit turned the color of the flames. Some unseen force awkwardly spurred her on, her voice gruff: "I am used to meager fare; many a nights I spend on the field. I will say that yours is not as feeble as you would claim."

Nieriel watched as Sam blundered to make a response as he busied himself with another makeshift plate. Her eyes narrowed yet her lips still threatened the shadow of a smile. _They do not stray far from their homes, these hobbits; this world is new to them. Perhaps they are more courageous than we give them credit for? For who would dare confront Nieriel the Nefarious?_

_ But most likely they are not._

The nightly conversation of longing tales of home took root, but this night it was the hobbits who spoke fondly of their Shire. Nieriel listened quietly, enjoying her meal, her gaze taking in her companions with leisure. The hobbits were harmless creatures, enjoyed the simplicity of life. They spoke of their festivals and celebrations, for they were always celebrating something, and their extensive family lines and overflowing garden patches. They laughed through stories of their boyhoods, tales of petty theft from the local farmer or mischievously innocuous pranks on unsuspecting townsfolk. She almost wished she could be as lighthearted as they.

_But fate was not so kind_. She sighed, not allowing her thoughts to travel that path anymore this day.

After supper Nieriel volunteered for first watch, and nimbly made her way to the top of the outcropping about a hundred feet above their camp, her feet swift and light. She brought with her a whetstone to sharpen her knives, though they had not tasted blood for many nights now; the chore brought her comfort. Sighing lightly, she settled atop the smooth groove of a flat rock and looked out over the fields of Eregion, with the Bruinen so far off in the distance, as the Misty Mountains climbed high behind her.

_A clear night; we have been graced with good luck thus far_. Nieriel thought, her eyes lost to the sight before her. Rollicking green hills had turned indigo under the blanket of night, and the trees, so scattered in the distance, swayed gently to the north with the cold, bitter wind. Nieriel wrapped her cloak about her tightly as she turned her gaze to the crystal clear sky above, where the stars shined white against an ebony, moonless sky. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply of the clear winter air, filling her lungs until a smile took her features; she felt her soul calm a generous degree.

_But I am not such a fool to think that luck will last; it is only a matter of time_. Nieriel thought, and with hardened eyes she began to sharpen her blades.

"You have taken first watch every night."

Nieriel startled at the sound, whipped her head over her shoulder and up to meet the eyes of Legolas. _How did I not hear…?_ She was not so absorbed in her task that she would have missed the light traipse of his feet! And why was he not breathing hard? He did not look winded, as if he had labored to make the climb after her. Again she wondered how she missed his flight, narrowing eyes on his slight form. She had a good view of the group below her and she should have heard, or at the very least seen, his climb.

"I thought maybe I could lift the burden from your shoulders for an evening, but again you beat me to it." Legolas said, and to her astonishment he came to stand next to her, before folding his legs to sit on the wide rock beside her. "So instead I thought maybe I could keep you company."

"I prefer my solitude." Nieriel clipped, turning back to her task as her earlier niceties fell by the wayside. She inwardly winced, her shoulders growing tense. _Would his company be so bad?_ A gentle voice in her soul whispered, and her face heated torturously from her silent answer.

"Then I shall be silent." Legolas intoned, drawing his laughing gaze from her to the fields beyond.

Nieriel gritted her teeth against his comment, but kept her eyes on her blade. Slowly, she passed the stone along the length of it, trying to ignore the way her palms sweat, or her eyes kept darting to the right, or the way his platinum blonde hair flickered ivory under the stars, wavering in the breeze. The _sching_ of the stone could not drown out the thundering of her heart, and for the first time in her entire life the noise did not bring her solace or comfort.

_This is ridiculous._

She opened her mouth to send the prince on his way, and then remembered he was a prince and she could not simply send him on his way. She had already been too harsh on him; it was lucky for her that Legolas was so lighthearted. _Too lighthearted_, she thought disdainfully, jerking her eyes back to her blade as her hands trembled and she almost slipped along its length. _He laughs too much. Talks too much. Teases too much. Smiles too much. But it is a nice smile. And it complements the color of his eyes…_

Her hand slipped; the pad of her finger ran along the length of the blade, slicing it open. She narrowed her eyes at the affliction; his presence irked her in ways she did not understand, that made her body do questionable things. Legolas glanced over as she fumbled with her knife, which was usually like an extension of her arm, as she thought to herself, _complements the color of his eyes?_

_ You've been reading too much._

"Perhaps it would be best if your thoughts did not distract you so." Legolas said, and Nieriel silently fumed as she placed her knife and the rock to the side and used a corner of her tunic to staunch the flow of blood. Her eyes flickered to him once more, and the laughing look she saw on his face told her he had a certain idea of how his presence affected her.

"What do you suggest?" Nieriel asked, and she flushed bright red when he offered her a kerchief. "My thanks," she forced herself to say as she twined the fabric around her bleeding finger.

"Conversing; but only to see if it will be less distracting than thinking, of course." Legolas added the last part, his baritone deepening with mirth, and Nieriel gave him a look full of ice.

Nieriel sighed heavily; she had lost this battle. She looked to the heavens briefly, asking for patience and just a modicum of courtesy, before she turned her forest-green eyes to him, her brows arched slightly in question.

_I will not be the first to start this 'conversing'._

"I have heard of you, from afar of course. I do not believe we have ever met, which completely defies my belief. If Elrond found you after the Siege of Barad-dûr, then you must be well over a thousand years old."

"We must add charmer to your list of attributes." Nieriel said, and Legolas threw back his head and laughed.

"My apologies." Legolas said gravely, a hand over his heart as he gave her a mock bow. "Something tells me I will be apologizing to you quite a bit."

"My time with the Fellowship is short."

"Yes, that may be true, but I intend to learn more about you, get you to open up a bit more."

Nieriel looked at him with a genuinely curious expression on her face. "Why? What is it about me that intrigues you so?"

"Your past. How you have grown from it. Who you are today, sitting next to me."

Nieriel stared at him, her lips parted in complete astonishment. No one had ever taken such an interest in her. She was mostly overlooked in the presence of Arwen, and due to the fact that she had little to offer anyone because of her rank. And here this Elven prince from the secluded kingdom of Mirkwood, who beguiled and irritated her both at once, who knew little to nothing about her save rumors, and left her utterly speechless at every turn, wanted to _get to know her_?

"But why?"

Legolas shrugged then, a careless maneuver, so like his carefree, arrogant attitude. His smile was lazy as he looked at her and asked, "For instance: why you were named after a bee."

It was Nieriel's turn to laugh; the sound startled her, for it was the second time she heard it today and she rarely laughed more than twice a month. It abruptly stopped, and she cleared her throat of the bane before she began.

"It is a somber story, really." Nieriel began, her eyes on the fields once more. "When Lord Elrond found me, I would do nothing but hum in my state of shock. And then I made not a sound at all, not for one hundred years.

"And then one day, while Celebrían was reading to me a story of nature, I saw a picture of a bee. She smiled and laughed, her hand in my hair, and called me her little bee. It was my first word, and so it stuck."

"They had not named you all that time?"

"Because I had no family, for no one came to claim me, they wanted to let it be my choice. And so I became Nieriel." Nieriel shrugged as if there were no pain that accompanied those thoughts. "Most of the memories before my time in Rivendell are lost to me. I only know what Lord Elrond has told me."

"And so you stayed in Rivendell?"

Nieriel nodded. "Celebrían and Elrond's sympathy for me made me a home. I have been there ever since."

"And you do not leave much."

"Save for an excursion here or there, or a battle every few years, not truly."

"Do you not like to travel, to see the world, what is out there?" Legolas asked, and his tone was not accusing, but Nieriel felt his words resonate within her soul. _To travel… Something I have always longed to do. _She shook her head, her eyes downcast.

"Why do you not tell me something more cheerful then," Legolas said jovially after a few heartbeats of silent contemplation. "I know you are not, nor do you do, those things they said earlier…or at least that is not all of it."

"But maybe it is. Maybe I am nothing but a warmongering, bloodletting, she-elf who sleeps next to her knives at night."

"A cold sleep it would be." Legolas replied with a laugh, and Nieriel snorted her mirth. Though she never did before, she suddenly realized what an unladylike sound it was, and her face heated. _Really, Nee? What is this? _When his laughter trickled to silence, Legolas said, "I have noticed that you packed more books than clothing. And you seem to spoil your horse with more sugar than I thought one person could carry."

_He has watched me? _Her stomach churned uncomfortably. "Stormwind is rather spoiled." Nieriel felt her cheeks heat _again _and minded her task of picking at the grass next to the rock on which she sat. "And what is so wrong with books?"

"How do you make time to read with your handmaidenly duties?" Legolas teased, and Nieriel felt something brush her arm then, warm and soft. The gesture sent sparks up her spine, caused every single nerve-ending to crackle.

_It was the wind._

She shivered and told herself it was because of the cold. "I am fortunate that Lord Elrond thinks of me more as his daughter than a servant. I know my place, and my own pride will not allow me to benefit more from it more than I already have, but I grew up alongside Arwen and did not and have not wanted for anything. I am fortunate that I have the time I do for my own."

Legolas fell silent then, and it dawned upon Nieriel that she had been talking about herself so easily, confirming things that had only been hearsay or rumors. She was not so comfortable with those she did not know, and the sudden notion made her feel…strange. _Why is it so easy talking to Legolas?_

Striving for a tone that did not sound as uncomfortable as she felt, she said, "Tell me of you, my lord."

"Legolas, please." he replied, his eyes twinkling as he gazed at her; Nieriel positively burned from embarrassment, looking away quickly. "I would have you call me Legolas."

_To lose the shield of formality? _Her spine quivered, and she barely shuddered it.

In her obstinacy, she refused to breach it. "Your father is the great King Thranduil; tell me, what is he like?"

"Stern," Legolas replied, his eyes flitting over the fields. "But not unkind. He saw to me well as a child, taught me much in my adolescence. He is a fine leader, a great father, but he grew distant after my mother died."

"What happened to her?"

Legolas's brow grew serious then. Nieriel watched as his shoulders tensed and his jaw hardened before he said, "My home has not always been so desolate. There was a time when it was known as Greenwood the Great; it was beautiful, filled with light and joy. The trees were always green in the spring, bloomed beautifully in the summer. The winters were not so cold and bleak; they were white and pure, filled with wonder and tranquility. Autumn was my favorite though; when the trees turned orange and gold, and the butterflies would make their trek from the north to the south, in droves thick with a kaleidoscope of color."

Nieriel felt her chest tighten. _It is my favorite, too._

"But then the spiders came."

_Awful creatures. _"Spiders?"

Legolas nodded. "When Sauron, flouncing unbeknownst as the Necromancer, claimed Dol Guldur, he brought with him his foul creatures; spiders, bigger than any you can imagine, bats from Mordor, and swarms of orcs. The forest became overrun with cobwebs and filth and darkness, and the spiders made their way north, pushing us out of our home. We tried to fight them off, are still to this day, but it was in one of those battles that my mother was lost."

Nieriel felt her fingers clench and then unravel as hatred laced through her veins. _The Shadow of Mordor knows no bounds. _"I am sorry about your mother."

Legolas smiled, though it was not one of his usual ones, did not quite reach his eyes. "She was everything to my father, and very dear to me. She is greatly missed."

Sentiment had twisted its way into her throat and Nieriel had to clear it before she said, "What of your childhood? Surely it was a merry one."

"Most like any prince, I would assume." Legolas began. "I was tutored as finely as my father could manage, practiced with every weapon I could get my hands on, and misbehaved at every turn."

A laugh escaped her, further shocking Nieriel. Strikingly, however, she found herself less bothered by it than the first time, and she felt her being relax as she gazed at Legolas. Her eyes and her tone softened as she said, "I think I would delight in hearing these misbehaviors."

Legolas grinned then, and Nieriel felt the breath still in her chest. She blinked against his radiance, her lips parted ever so slightly, as he said, "Where to begin…"

* * *

The sun was bright the next morning as it crept over the Misty Mountains, but Legolas had been awake long before the bright rays of morning had warmed his features. He had taken last watch after Aragorn, and now sat in the same spot he had spent most of the night next to Nieriel, talking well past when first watch had been over, and about anything and everything that had crossed their minds. The time had seemed to slip by so easily, so smoothly, and throughout the conversation he noticed the subtle signs that she had been relaxing and enjoying herself as well; her shoulders had relaxed, her lips soft in something almost akin to a smile, and her gaze gentle, easily roaming the fields and sometimes meeting his own. Hours had slipped by before he had realized it was half past midnight, and it seemed she hadn't realized it either until she began yawning and her lids began drooping.

Legolas smiled then, standing from his position. _Her sharp demeanor hides her true nature; she is passionate about so much. She likes to read, she loves horses, she lives for slaying orcs, and I have never met anyone with a more strident sense of loyalty. But she does not let anyone see that about her. She lets them believe she is cold and callous; she has built a wall around herself. _He stretched his arms, his legs, then his back, before sliding deftly down the outcropping back to the camp that was waking to continue the journey ahead. _And I am no closer to figuring out why that is than when I first started speaking to her._

_ I simply suppose I will have to talk to her more._

With a grin on his face and an extra spring to his step, Legolas looked for her then, and his eyes quickly found her across the embers of the fire tying the weathered ribbon she used to keep her hair out of her face around her locks, before she moved to pack her belongings into her satchel for the journey to come. The horses were tethered just beyond where she had slept, and he watched as she fondly patted her steed on the snout before moving back to her pallet. He felt compelled to go to her, to bid her good morning and ask how she slept, but Aragorn stopped him before he could.

"The night was quiet then?" The ranger asked, and Legolas had a difficult time of tearing his eyes away from Nieriel to answer. Strider raised a brow when Legolas was finally able to, but Legolas was not about to embark on that conversation with the ranger. Not when he was being so unforthcoming about his own damsel; for indeed, Legolas had tried to question him, but Aragorn had been tight-lipped.

"Yes." His eyes darted back to her, unable to help himself, and found her strapping her blades to her back. Seemingly mesmerized by her movements, he watched as she worked nimbly to secure her weapons, her movements fluid from years of practice. "We have been lucky thus far." _Nieriel thought so too. Yet she shares my unease._

"Too lucky." Aragorn replied, and Legolas felt a grim sense of agreement as he looked at Aragorn. Strider looked exhausted, more so than usual, and Legolas knew it was for a myriad of reasons; the ranger had much on his shoulders. "I do not know whether to revel in it or prepare for the worst. These roads are usually teeming with orcs. Now there is nothing? It is bizarre."

"Nevertheless, we must press on." Gandalf interpolated, walking up to them with his staff guiding the way.

"The road ahead was clear last night. No tracks in the dirt, no marks left over from a camp." Elrohir said, guiding his horse over to where they stood talking. He was already dressed for riding, his horse saddled and at the ready. "But I agree, it is not right."

"We should not stand about bandying of our lucky." Boromir grumbled, earning himself a glare from Elladan, who had joined his brother. "We need to be on our way."

"But we have not had breakfast yet!" Pippin squawked, and Legolas caught the laugh on Aragorn's lips before he sealed them, busying himself with strapping his sword to his side.

"Aye, stay and have your breakfast then. Fatten up so you can become breakfast for another beast." Boromir snarled, and Nieriel looked up from where she was saddling her steed, a frown on her brow.

"There is no need to be so crude."

Boromir raked her with an ugly sneer from across the camp. His voice was loud and abrasive as he said, "I know the danger of lagging, she-elf. I have suffered much."

Nieriel stiffened, and Legolas watched as she left her task to stalk a few feet, her face darkening with contempt. Elladan stepped away from stowing his satchel onto his own steed to step protectively before her, facing Boromir, but Nieriel paused as if thinking better of her actions, her hands fisting at her sides.

"We _all_ have suffered much." she said hotly, and Legolas was drawn briefly to the white scar that halved her face. "I have seen more than you ever will."

Boromir bristled angrily, moving a hand to his sword hilt in an offensive maneuver. Gandalf frowned deeply and Aragorn moved to get between the two.

"You do _not _comprehend the power that Ring can wield. In the wrong hands, it is a bane to this earth." Boromir seethed, his fingers flexing around his hilt. Aragorn laid a hand on his chest and Legolas watched as Nieriel's eyes darkened, her lips parting to rebuke once more. However, Borormir's eyes flickered from her to Frodo, and his countenance softened ever so slightly. "But if it were to fall into worthy hands—"

A shrill shriek rent the morning air.

Legolas whipped his head to the north, and in the far off distance saw a single warg rider atop a hill, pointing a jagged blade in their direction. Two more appeared, and then four, and then ten, before the hillside darkened with their beastly bodies.

"Warg riders!" Gimli bellowed, pulling his axe from its holster.

"They eluded us!" Elrohir hissed, swinging himself up onto his horse as his brother leapt to do the same.

"Saddle the ponies!" Aragorn shouted, and the hobbits burst into hurried panic, bumping into each other as they scrambled from their bedding. "Quickly!"

Legolas ran to help the hobbits saddle their ponies so they could be on their way, aware that others moved to do the same. _They are unused to this kind of maneuvering, _Legolas thought, taking the reins of the ponies from Nieriel as she led them from their makeshift pen. In no time at all the hobbits were readied and mounted, and with Gandalf and Gimli at the lead were ready to depart as Legolas, Aragorn, Nieriel, Elladan, Elrohir, and Boromir readied to meet the wargs who were now charging from their cliffside vantage, closing the gap in leaping striders.

Drawn to her, Legolas looked to Nieriel then. _A vision_, Legolas suddenly thought, momentarily stunned by her fierce visage. Her russet locks rippled wildly in the wind as her mount jumped and retreated, feeding off of the turmoil around him. Her cloak whipped about her shoulders, flashing her blades upon her back, as she faced her enemy roving the hills to get to where they had such a short time ago slept so peacefully. Yet she held no fear, no dismay; only courage and loathing for her adversary bathed her features. She looked like a warrior, so proud and true she sat, calling for order, readying to charge.

"Ride for Ost-in-Edhil! We will meet you there!" Boromir called to Gandalf, and with a swift nod the wizard, with Gimli seated before him, began to lead the hobbits from the oncoming fray.

* * *

_**AN: **_Yes so obviously I was MIA last week; I apologize. I like to stay a certain number of chapters ahead when writing, and I had fallen behind where I felt comfortable. So I took a week and wrote through my threshold, and here we are! And it's hard because sometimes these chapters are so damn _long. _But when one of them wants to be 10, 11, 12 bloody pages long and I don't have a good stopping point, I can't disagree! And I hope you all don't mind the long chapters; I can try to trim them down, if it would so please you. Anyway, again you have my apologies, but it benefits us all, really. Thank you for being patient with me.

Nieriel's name: The prefix "nion" or "nie" means "bee", and with the suffix "riel" (meaning maiden), we have bee-maiden! I thought it was cute, gives a little bit more character to our girl.

As always, I thank you for your kind words, thoughts, and messages. I love hearing from you all and conversing at length. Nothing gives me more motivation and happiness then to see people enjoying my stories. I try desperately to respond to you all, and if I don't please don't take it personally! I get behind sometimes in replying, that's all! To my guests that comment: you are simply and utterly amazing. I wish I could respond to you personally, but know that I appreciate every syllable!

My hats off to all of you wonderful beings! Until next time.

-_xox ithilbereth_


	10. Chapter 10: Quite the Vacation

**Chapter Ten: Quite the Vacation**

Nieriel swung herself up into the saddle, twisting her mount around to face the oncoming battle as she drew her blades from their sheathes. _The hobbits will get to safety. Focus. _A fear so grave she could not explain it had gripped her soul, yet she was all fury and fire as the others readied themselves to fight as the wargs drew nearer, their beastly bodies and spine-shivering howls covering the countryside in swift terror.

"Nieriel you go with them!" Elladan suddenly called to her, and Nieriel jerked her wild gaze to him. She frowned at him darkly, pulling sharply at Stormwind to tame his frenzy; the beast could feel her tension, her own bold eagerness.

"I ride with you to fight!" Nieriel exclaimed, a hint of bewilderment in her voice, as she swung her blades to loosen her wrists, readying her body for the chaos. She briefly caught a glimpse of Legolas beyond Elladan, before her gaze was drawn back to him with his sharp negation of her statement with a shake of his head.

His body was tense as he gripped his sword, and his voice had gone gruff. "I want you to ride with the hobbits—"

Her fury exploded. "I have never _once_ fled a fight with an orc!" Nieriel shouted at him, her neck heating red in her ire. "I am not about to start! _Now ride_!"

She dug her heels into her mount to set the charge, leaning low over Stormwind's neck. However Elladan pushed his mount before hers, cutting off her advancement. Stormwind reared slightly in his own confusion, and Nieriel almost dropped one of her prized blades at the encroachment.

"You will ride behind me!"

Red coated her vision as wrath swathed her soul. "Ride _behind you_?" _Never _had Elladan gotten in her way before. No man had! To ride behind him? _Unfathomable! _And _why?_ She kicked at Stormwind to move around Elladan but he darted before her once more, his grey eyes the color of a summer storm. She seethed, "_Move!_"

Her dapple-grey pranced with eager feet as Boromir and Aragorn tore away from the group with battle cries to match the orcs', their steeds already frothing and sweating. Nieriel pulled roughly on her reins and then kicked harshly at Stormwind's sides, causing the beast to leap into action around Elladan, leaving him in her dust. Snarling, the elf lunged after her on his own mount, brandishing his sword in her wake.

The red over her vision did not wane, and when Nieriel met the warg riders it was without mercy or hesitation. Stormwind trampled the first beast while she laid low to decapitate the rider, and a single canter later she leaned over the opposite side of her mount to stab another orc through his jugular. A flare of ebony orc blood streaked across her chest and neck before she sat tall and threw one of her prized blades to slice the morning air and land in between the eyes of another orc. At a full gallop she rode by and plucked the blade from his skull before he hit the ground.

The morning became tainted by the touch of death. The thirty warg riders quickly dwindled to twenty, then fifteen, before a meager ten was left to their forces. Aragorn was deftly holding off two while Elladan and Elrohir engaged another three. Legolas felled one with a quick notch of his arrow while Boromir struck down another, and two more came at him. Her eyes darting, Nieriel paused amidst the chaos, searching for the tenth rider. _The hobbits, did they get to safety? _Her heart was pounding, her face dripping orc blood. _Ost-in-Edhil was not too far, but they would not have made it yet… Maybe not even to Hollin…_

_Where is that tenth rider?_

Her eyes widened. Where they had made camp last night she spotted the tenth warg and his rider, rooting around their hastily departed campsite. _Picking up a scent_. Nieriel yanked on her reins so hard that Stormwind screamed, yet leapt into action with a snorting rage.

_He will be upon them and it will be too late!_

"_Nieriel!_"

She heard Elladan's bellow but did not stop, would not cease, because she knew that warg would lay siege upon the hobbits without so much as a second thought. _I must reach them in time!_ The wind pulled at her cloak, dried the blood on her skin, while the morning sun beat radiantly upon her back. Sweat curled along her brow, dampening her vision as she pushed Stormwind faster and faster, laying as low as she could get along his neck with both of her blades held tightly in her shaking grip. The fear that had gripped her mere moments ago had returned full force and had a tight fist on her throat, but she could not dwell on this fear; it would only impede her and her flight, and she had to reach the hobbits before they met their imminent doom.

There was too much at stake. _The Ring… Frodo…_

Stormwind took the land like his name implied. He was so surefooted, even over this rocky and untrodden terrain, his neck arched and his eyes wild. As one, he and rider surged up hills and down crags, around brambles and through dense puddles of muck. The warg rider had taken off from their camp and was now sprinting after the small pod of the Fellowship running for their lives, but he also knew Nieriel was behind him, was gaining on him. The sorry sap kept looking over his shoulder, and it was costing him.

Nieriel watched the warg stumble. Once. Twice. The orc cried out in terror but kept urging the warg on, even as Nieriel closed the distance between them. Stormwind was huffing, frothing, sweating, and Nieriel arched up tall from her saddle with her blades in hand to strike from a distance. She could almost see her blades slicing through the air, to land on their targets; one in the warg's right flank, causing him to stumble; the other in the back of the orc's skull.

But it was a maneuver that would cost her.

Abruptly, the orc pulled the warg to a sliding halt and coerced the beast to turn. With his sword flashing, reflecting the morning sun, Nieriel watched in wide-eyed disbelief as he produced a short spear she had not seen before. She was now a blazing target, and the knives she once wielded with fluid grace grew lax in her grasp. Time seemed to slow as the orc gripped the warg with one hand and hoisted the spear over his shoulder with the other, and Nieriel desperately pulled Stormwind to a grinding stop, the beast rearing in his contempt. She pulled his reins to the right to try and avert the oncoming offensive, but she had grown too close, was only twenty feet away, and she had not counted on him turning at the last minute.

With a shriek to shatter her eardrums, the orc released the spear.

Stormwind came out of his rear and pranced to the right, his massive head tossing, but it was too late.

Nieriel raised a gauntleted forearm to at least take away the brunt of the blow.

From over her shoulder a flash of white tore through the sky, and Nieriel watched with unabashed astonishment as a trio of arrows knocked the spear from its course. It clattered harmlessly to a surface of rock to her right. She whipped her head over her shoulder and saw Legolas standing atop an outcropping some fifty feet behind her, and her mouth dropped open in a stunned gape.

_Quickly! _She knew she could not tarry. Already the orc was livid.

With blurring speed, she raised her blades and let out a cry to rival the filth's own. The orc was digging his heels into the warg with his sword raised high, and at once the creature leapt from the rock where he was perched to reach Nieriel. But she was too fast. First one blade and then the other sluiced through the air, meeting their marks with resounding _twangs_.

One struck the warg in the jaw, taking him down. The beast tumbled over his front legs, throwing the orc from his back.

And, predicting his movement, the second blade met its mark in the chest of the orc, sending him sprawling across the grass. Nieriel jumped from Stormwind with fury in her gait, her stride long and stiff as she drew the blade that rested against her forearm in a hidden sheath. She drew up to the orc she had felled and placed a boot on his chest, next to the blade she had so expertly embedded into his sternum. The creature leered up at her, his lips bloody as he roared his disdain and grappled to relieve the pressure of her foot on his person, but Nieriel silenced him with a single swipe across his neck.

When the orc gurgled his last moan, she leaned down to retrieve her blade. Without mercy, with wrath still raging through her veins, she ripped open his chest with a vicious twist as her blade came free, and then used his tunic to wipe it clean. She went to the warg next and pulled that blade free as well, her lip curling at the putrid smell of the still twitching beast.

_No more will you hunt these lands, _she thought, wiping her second blade clean on its fur. _No more will you plague our kind._

A rumbling of the dirt had her looking up, and Nieriel watched as the five males that had accompanied her into battle rode over the hill and outcropping to where she felled the orc. She whistled sharply while stowing her blades, and Stormwind trotted up to her before she leapt up onto his back with ease, meeting the eyes of Aragorn as she grasped her reins.

"Are you all right?" he asked, his eyes lurching from her to the carnage she had wrought.

Nieriel ignored Elladan, who she could feel was watching her with burning orbs of ire. _He forgets I am older, more hardened than he. _Her anger towards him reared its ugly head then, but she refused to let it consume her. They had to make it back to the hobbits, to make sure they were all right. "Nevermind me. We ride for Ost-in-Edhil."

* * *

The capital of Eregion was a striking land, but wholly uninhabited. When Sauron decimated it in ages past, none had thought to reclaim or repopulate it. The stones that had long ago formed homes and buildings had been leveled, were now weathered reminders of the once thriving city, barely recognizable as dwellings. The ruins were situated atop the tallest hill in the region, with trees that lined the Misty Mountains to the east and the Swanfleet marsh opening up to the west, and rolling hills all around.

It was atop this hill that Nieriel cantered to a stop, the others trailing behind her. Gandalf and the hobbits, as well as the dwarf, were situated atop a pile of rocks nibbling on some of their fare and sharing two smoking pipes.

"Bless my beard!" Gimli exclaimed as Nieriel deftly leapt from her horse, taking his reins in her grasp. She was not the worst looking of the group, but her outfit was nearly doused in orc blood, her leathers coated in the ebon taint. "How many bloody buggers were there?"

"Thirty, by my count." Aragorn replied, looking over from whence they came. "We did not linger to see if there are more. And for the same reason we cannot rest here long."

"But we just got here!" Merry exclaimed, and more than half of the group shot him perturbed glares.

"I will change and then we will go." Nieriel said, leaving nothing up to discussion. Aragorn was right; although Ost-in-Edhil was largely abandoned, that did not mean they should dwell so long in one spot. Who knew what was trailing the orcs, if there were more to be seen. And Nieriel had heard rumors that the lands to the south, below the Glanduin and reaching into Dunland, had long been tainted by the wrath of Saruman.

She spied a large puddle atop one of the rocks, and after grabbing a clean tunic out of one of her satchels headed for it. The men gathered to talk amongst one another, no doubt to speak of their next course of action and if their route had to be adjusted, but Nieriel cared little. As much as she loved spilling orc blood, being saturated in it was another matter entirely. She shivered irrepressibly. It felt like poison stinging her skin, seeping into her pores.

As soon as she got to the waist-high pillar of rock she pulled out a fresh tunic and pulled her hair from its ribbon, immediately bending to wash her face, scrub her skin, and run handfuls of water through her hair.

With a deep, gasping breath and a toss of her hair, Nieriel straightened and reached for the dry tunic to pat her face, and then hastily laid it aside to pull her hair back in a quick braid. She felt the shadow on her back a split second before she opened her eyes and found Elladan standing to her left, but she refused to acknowledge him with more than a glare. She dipped again to wash her face, and though the water was murky and stagnant, it felt like the oils of the gods on her skin.

"Nee—"

Nieriel stood straight and grabbed her tunic, drying her neck and face as she moved to a nearby bush to change. She unclasped her cloak and ignored Elladan as she moved, though she knew he stalked her.

It was when he grabbed her arm that she lashed out.

"You will _not_ put your hands on me!" She jerked her arm from his grasp, and her sharply raised voice drew more than one shocked gaze their way.

Elladan bristled, his grey eyes bright. "You cannot be so angry at me for trying to protect—"

"I do not need yours, or anyone else's, _protection_." Nieriel snarled, her hands fisting around her clothes. "I have lived _centuries, _Elladan, by the security of my own hand. You know I have not become so learned in combat for sport, but for revenge, and there is little I cannot handle. I have gotten through more perilous scrapes than _thirty orcs_!"

"That does not mean I cannot lend my aide when I am near!" Elladan retorted hotly, and Nieriel's eyes flickered to Elrohir as he came up behind his brother, and Aragorn moved to sidestep the group who had been talking, but now looked on at the argument with shock shining in their gazes. "What had happened if you were followed? Lured into a trap and ambushed? Or Stormwind had thrown you?"

"Then I would have gotten back to my feet and continued to fight!" Nieriel seethed, not liking this side of Elladan. He had never been so outrageously protective before. Of course, he had cautioned her, but this ire, this heated belligerence, was not like him. "I am more than capable of holding my own!"

"Can you not just accept the fact that I was trying to help you?"

"It was unwarranted and unneeded." Nieriel said flatly, turning from Elladan and disappearing behind the thick bush to change her tunic.

When she emerged a few moments later tying her belt about her waist, Elladan was still waiting where she had left him, was still fuming. She walked right past him with her chin notched high and her eyes ahead, however Elladan, in true Elladan fashion, would not let the matter rest.

"Why is it so terrible to accept assistance?" he insisted, walking beside her. The others had returned to their conversation, but Nieriel was aware they listened to her and Elladan with half an ear. She ignored him, dipping her tunic in the puddle of rainwater to clean it best she could, drawing out the silence until she felt heated anger roiling off of Elladan.

"You were not _assisting; _you were browbeating. You were knowingly and incessantly standing in between me and an enemy when there were those who were truly in need of protection. Those who were _not me_." Nieriel snapped through gritted teeth, after she had returned her garment to her satchel. _And I've worked hard to make sure I never will never be defenseless again._

"Nee, there will be a time when you will and I want to be—"

"_Crebain!_"

Nieriel whipped around and spied Legolas leaping down from a rock, pointing toward the horses.

"Take the horses to cover!" Aragorn leapt into action, while Nieriel called out, "Where? Where do you see them?"

"From the south!" Legolas shouted to her, as the others burst into a flurry of movement. Aragorn, Boromir, and the twins took the horses to cover while Gandalf ushered the hobbits into a nearby cave, and Gimli hopped down from his previous languorous recline with a swiftness that was surprising to run after them. Nieriel gave Stormwind a good smack on the rump and he took off after Aragorn and the others, before she peered off into the distance, her eyes narrowed.

_There_. Legolas was right. Still miles away, but there was a thick cloud of the nasty crows heading directly for them. _Spies for Saruman, the coward who hides in his tower._

She jogged over to where the hobbits were cowering, and Sam was white in the face when he looked at her and asked, "What are crebain?"

"Of the crow family." Gandalf began, sadly putting out his pipe as he hunkered down in the shadows, his staff tucked next to him. "They inhabit Dunland and Fangorn Forest."

"But no one goes to those places save—"

"The Shadow." Aragorn intoned from a nearby bush, where he and Boromir were making themselves scarce. "Yes. Not all birds are beautiful, to be trusted."

"My sword!" Frodo suddenly cried, and Nieriel glanced at him as he frantically began patting his chassis.

"Where did you leave it, lad? Attached to Bill?" Gimli asked, referring to their pack pony.

"There it is!" Pippin pointed to where Frodo had been sitting, and Nieriel glanced over. Sure enough, Sting sat proudly glinting in the sun. For all to see.

She ground her teeth furiously. _Stupid hobbit! The crebain will send word back to Saruman and this entire hillside will be crawling with his minions before sunset!_

Nieriel crouched down, eyes darting to the sword, and then to the crebain in the distance. Closer now, but if she was quick enough she wouldn't be seen. And there was a bush opposite the cave they were tucked in, small enough for one person to hide in. She shook her head slowly, drawing in a slow breath before she launched from the cover of the cave.

"_Nieriel!_"

"What are you doing?"

"She has gone mad!"

Pumping her arms for speed, Nieriel ran toward the sword with adrenaline surging through her. She dipped low and swiped it from the ground just as the screech of the crebain flitted by on the wind. Sliding slightly on the loose pebbles and smooth rock surface, Nieriel collapsed to her knees, tucked the blade against her torso, and then lay flat on the ground to shimmy backwards on her belly into the bush, not even the least bit sweaty.

_There. Now the hobbit will have his sword and we all will not perish before—_

"I would like to think you put yourself in danger merely to spend some time with me," Nieriel started so violently that her hair got tangled in a bramble, and when she tried to turn to confirm her suspicion of the owner of the voice, it pulled brutally at her scalp. "But I do not think that is the case. And you picked a rather awful spot to do so, as it is."

Grinding her teeth to the point of a headache, Nieriel carefully extracted her hair from the twisted branches as Legolas chuckled at her behavior. She had not seen him when she had been scoping out the bush, which really was as small as it had seemed, nor had she felt him in her hurry to become unseen. Oh, but she felt him now. He was warm and firm, pressed up against her side unabashedly. She tried to scoot away, but he said, "You would not want to do that. They are almost upon us; they will hone in on any movement, and you do not want to be seen."

"Nor heard." Nieriel muttered rottenly, glad for the shadows of the bush to hide her scathing blush.

Legolas chuckled then, angering Nieriel further, but her thoughts were stolen from her as the crebain grew closer, so loud now that Nieriel winced at their incessant chatter. From a distance the beasts had looked like a black storm cloud, but now Nieriel could make out hundreds of them, beating their heavy wings to cover the ground as fast as they could, eager for any new knowledge for Saruman.

And when they swept over the ruins of Ost-in-Edhil, they brought with them a fierce windstorm, tearing at the bushes and the trees, toppling lesser stones, splashing water from the leftover rainstorm. Nieriel closed her eyes against the dust brought by their wings, covering her mouth with her sleeve so she would not cough. Their echoing calls were monstrous, ringing in her ears with shrill clarity. Their bodies darkened the sky as they swarmed, swirling in wide arcs to cover the area.

For what felt like hours she crouched in the bush, covering her mouth and daring to watch from the brambles as crebain swathed overhead. Legolas remained silent next to her, never once flinching, never once making a noise. Nieriel hoped with everything in her that the others were all right, and more than once she thought of the hobbits. _Why would Gandalf allow a hobbit, let alone four hobbits, take on this journey? _The thought had plagued her many times. But who was she to question a wizard? Gandalf had his ways, had maneuvered scenarios to his liking before, and so she did not say otherwise. _But they are so weak, just silly creatures…_

She hated this, having the hobbits along! It had not even been a week yet and already they were causing problems, slowing them down, and attracting danger!

The sun passed the noon mark and began its dissent in the west, and for some untold time the crebain had been absent. But no one dared to move from their hiding spots; Nieriel could still hear their noise on the wind even if they could not be seen.

"Eregion is truly a beautiful land. It is a shame it has gone unpopulated for so long." Legolas murmured softly, so close to her that his words ruffled the hair by her ear.

Nieriel peered at him over her shoulder, a genuinely dumbfound expression on her face. She lurched back when she saw how close they had become, and she had to make a great effort to keep her voice calm and level as she said, "We are under the scrutiny of the enemy! It is hardly time to remark about Eregion as though it is a _vacation spot_!"

Legolas's lips curled into a grin and Nieriel looked away as her face threatened to flame. "My father would tell me stories of a time past, when Ost-in-Edhil was a thriving city, and the Noldorin Elves and the dwarves of Moria were great friends."

"A fabled friendship." Nieriel uttered softly with disdain, though she remembered such tales from Elrond as well.

"This once was a land crawling with splendor and trade, home to some of the greatest smiths of all time."

"You do realize the enemy is not a mile from us."

"Lairelossë and mallorn grew in abundance, and fields of lavender dotted the countryside. The homes had quaint thatched roofs but were sturdy amongst the storms, and the villages boasted wares from both dwarves and elves, some even working together."

"And could come back at any time."

"You know what I think?"

Nieriel looked at Legolas with a drawling gaze, prompting him with a raised brow. "I think you are foolish to continue talking when our lives are in the balance."

"I think you rather enjoyed your time in this bush with me."

She almost threw back her head and laughed, but remembered the last time when her hair got tangled, and hunkered down even further. "What makes you think that?"

"The fact that you could not keep from touching me."

Aghast, Nieriel forgot her earlier thought of saving her scalp and whipped her head around to stare openmouthed at Legolas. "There is barely any room in this bush that is not occupied by you! Where was I supposed to go?"

He was laughing at her again, provoking her on purpose. She saw it in his eyes, in the way he was barely containing his laughter, and she glared at him heatedly.

"You know what else I think?"

"You may keep your thoughts to yourself from now on."

"I think you are a superb swordswoman. I have never seen anyone wield a blade like you do."

Nieriel kept her lips shut, but her face betrayed her feelings when it turned the color of the morning sun.

"It was if the blades were an extension of your person. You were so fluid with your movements, as if they were second nature. Do you ever use a short sword or a bow? And you are a fantastic rider; your horse knew your every move, you barely had to guide him."

"Yes, yes, enough." Nieriel twittered, feeling wholly uncomfortable. She shifted, but with nowhere to go remained stiff and uncomfortable, and now even more so. She never wished to be anywhere else so much in her life.

"A thank you would suffice."

Nieriel softened then, glancing at Legolas from under ebony lashes. She lifted a hand to push away a pesky branch, knowing she had more to thank him for than just his compliments. "I owe you much for your help today."

"No matter how much you want to rebuke it?"

She knew he made mention of her earlier argument with Elladan; she chose to ignore it. "Without your quick thinking I would have surely been in a lot different predicament than I am right now. So I am grateful for your quick thinking. A shot from that distance against the wind was impressive. And not just with one arrow but three. How long have you been practicing with a bow?"

"For as long as I can remember." Legolas told her, bowing his head to acknowledge her thanks. It was a cramped maneuver, and she could not help herself from smiling when one of the braids at his temple got caught on a bramble. "My father had one in my hands as soon as I could stand."

She almost could not stop herself from laughing as he struggled with the bramble, his fingers fumbling. "I can tell. Your nimbleness with your hands is…awe-inspiring."

Legolas paused, gaping at her openly. "Did you just make a _jest_?" He peered through the branches of the bush to the sky, squinting against the golden rays of the sun. "Is the sky darkening with the apocalypse? Is the ground rumbling to open up to the netherworld?"

She laughed then, a hearty sound, and she brought a hand to her mouth to muffle herself, belatedly recalling her own words. She could not stop though, and when Legolas joined her, her heart swelled with a joy she had not felt before. The notion would have perturbed her any other time, but she was laughing too hard to care.

* * *

As soon as night fell, Aragorn was the first to depart from his hiding space, quickly followed by Boromir. They went in opposite directions, scouting the far sides of the rock platform they had been inhabiting, until slowly walking back, their eyes darting over the night sky. Nieriel was next, all the more eager to give up her place despite the lighthearted moments she had shared with Legolas, and Legolas followed her. The twins came warily from the forest, the horses still hidden for now, and everyone moved toward the cave where the hobbits still cowered, where Gandalf and Gimli now stood.

"We cannot stay here." Boromir was the first to say, his eyes on the clouds that dusk had brought. "Who knows when they will return."

"Let us make for Redhorn Pass atop Caradhras." Aragorn intoned, drawing looks of rebuttal from Nieriel and Boromir, as well as a shaking negation from Elrohir.

"That pass is too dangerous." Elladan said, and Nieriel nodded her agreement, briefly meeting his gaze. _That is where Celebrían was captured. _His face was hard, cut in lines of harsh disdain, and Nieriel knew he was remembering that dark time. He and Elrohir had been the ones to rescue their mother, and the memory of Celebrían being brought unto Rivendell, tortured and broken, burned like acid in her memory until Gandalf's voice broke her reverie.

"At any given time it can be overrun with orcs; we cannot take the chance on such a narrow thoroughfare, with so many of us."

"If anyone were to ask for my opinion, which I note they have not, we should pass through the Mines of Moria. My cousin Balin would give us a royal welcome." Gimli boomed, thumping his chest.

Both Legolas and Nieriel drew back in their contempt, and Elladan and Elrohir turned furious eyes to Gimli.

"It will be a low day before I ask for help from a dwarf." Elladan snarled, drawing a growl from Gimli.

"What of the Gap of Rohan? We can seek shelter quicker that way under the aide of King Théoden." Boromir interjected before the fight could escalate.

"It is too far south." Aragorn shook his head. "We would have to pass through Dunland."

"And Isengard, where Saruman resides." Elrohir added.

"Dunland has long fallen into shadow." Gandalf sighed loudly, smiling sadly down at the hobbits who quivered in their cave still. "And with the crebain, the way south is most likely being watched."

"Moria is our best wager." Gimli said, causing Nieriel to glare at him.

"Do you know what lurks there, dwarf? What kind of evil we could awaken with one wrong move?" she sneered.

"Bah! Rubbish! My cousin Balin is Lord of Moria! There is no evil there!"

"Have you forgotten the—"

"Moria is not where we should head." Gandalf agreed.

At once, they all began to argue. Gimli and Gandalf, toting about Moria. Aragorn and the Legolas taking up the fight for Redhorn Pass. Boromir loudly staking his claim for the way through Dunland. The hobbits looked on with unease, sharing glimpses with one another, before Sam grew restless and emerged from the cave, his chest bowed.

"Enough of this!" His voice trembled, but he held his ground. "We cannot stay here and our options are few. Let us head for the Pass." he said vociferously, drawing everyone else to a sudden, silent halt. "It sounds as though it is the least treacherous of all the paths."

Nieriel's blood spiked and she felt her heart quicken. _To be captured, tortured such as she… _Her breaths began to rush and she had to swallow thickly, clearly recalling Elrond's strangled cry upon seeing his wife, and the way Arwen had wept for days thereafter… _Barely saved by hands even as skilled as Elrond's… And then, after that, never the same…_

"And so it shall be." Gandalf said, his gaze hard.

* * *

Nieriel gritted her teeth, repeating her mantra from earlier.

_ Why would Gandalf allow a hobbit, let alone four hobbits, take on this journey?_

They had traveled half the night to come upon the base of Caradhras, the tallest peak of the Misty Mountains, to seek Redhorn Pass. But as the night had waned on so had the weather, turning bone-chillingly cold with wild, whipping winds. The darkness had proved daunting for the hobbits, but two hours ago when the snow had started in a deluge of blinding white, their cavalcade slowed even further. She was one for cold weather, but this was a little much, even to her tastes.

Nieriel walked behind Samwise, the last of the hobbits, with Legolas and Boromir behind her. The twins had scouted ahead, but at this rate they would not be scouting ahead much longer. _This storm can only get worse. We cannot continue on this path, and we have not even reached our destination. And the threat of orcs will linger on. _Gandalf and Aragorn led the way, but even the strong ranger's pace was slowing.

The snow was creeping higher and higher the further they trudged. It covered Nieriel's knees now, which meant it covered the hobbits' waists, and with each step of ascent the snow thickened, grew deeper. They walked a single-file line, and many times the hobbits fumbled. Nieriel had picked Sam up from a drift or two with a scowl to blacken her features; she could tell he was tired, they were _all _tired, but their lives depended on them pushing through.

_We cannot falter now. _She had pulled her cloak to cover her mouth, the deep hood over her head. Still, the wind stung her eyes, and she squinted up at the mountain, at the swirling dredges of snow. They had only begun to climb the narrow path, were maybe only fifty feet up, and they still had so long to go. _So far…_

The silence had given her plenty of time to reflect on the journey thus far. She missed Arwen terribly, wished with everything in her that she was home. How did she fare, sitting there in Rivendell? Did she pine desperately for Aragorn, or think of Nieriel often? Nieriel hoped she did not worry for her or the twins; Arwen did not need any more strain than had already come upon her. And with the war, as full-fledged as it was, looming ever closer…

_Truly though, what was wrong with Elladan earlier? _Nieriel's eyes flickered to him, so far ahead, almost indiscernible even to her keen eyes. _He started acting so strange when we encountered the orcs, demanding I stay behind. He has never acted that way before!_

Legolas suddenly walked by _atop the snow_. She glared as he traipsed by on light feet, grinning down at her from the protection of his own cloak. Nieriel's blood warmed, and she felt her skin alight in a blush that was completely unwarranted. He winked then, and Nieriel suddenly had a burning desire to reach out and grasp his ankle, pull him down into the snow. But he walked too close to the edge of their path, and she was not particularly up for a rescue at the present time.

"You best hope a stray breeze does not knock you from the mountain!" Boromir called to Legolas over the winds, and Nieriel knew he heard when his shoulders shook with laughter. She could hear his retort: _Better to be down there than up here with you, Son of Denethor. _The elf not only riled her, he riled _everyone._

Nieriel watched as he deftly stepped between the hobbits, not allowing the wind to catch him or his cloak, and she glowered as he stepped so nimbly. _Show off_.

But his movements suddenly ceased, standing before Gandalf with his head tilted to one side, and he held up a fist and they all halted. Nieriel pulled her cloak up, shivering beneath the confines of her clothing. _Damn this weather!_

"There is a fell voice in the air!" Legolas called, and Nieriel shuddered, although this time not with cold. She watched as his eyes narrowed and he looked out over the Pass, its twisting, ascending length so hidden from their view.

Gandalf tipped his head up, and it was then that Nieriel heard it. A deep, rumbling voice was speaking in a language she did not understand, floating so egregiously, almost muted, on the wind. It was a voice that caused the hairs on her nape to stand, made her mouth dry, and her knees weaken.

"_It's Saruman!_" Gandalf exclaimed, suddenly grasping his staff with both hands.

"Gandalf! He's trying to bring—"

Aragorn no sooner got out half of what he was going to say than the mountain began to shake. Without thinking, Nieriel reached out for Sam and pulled him against the face of the mountain in a flash, turning their backs to the raging wind and falling snow as the rocks from above began to crumble. She felt the rush of air against her back as the stones fell, felt Sam quivering beneath her steady hand, and gritted her teeth as fear threatened to rear its ugly head.

_We will not perish here. _She told herself, strong in her resolve. The mountain stopped its trembling and she turned slightly to look at Gandalf, yet kept her grip on Sam.

"We must get off the mountain!" Boromir roared, as Gandalf readied his staff to fight off the worst of Saruman's spells.

Nieriel knew it would be futile.

"Gandalf! Boromir is right! We need to make haste from this place!"

Gandalf looked over his shoulder, turning slightly to peruse those behind him. The hobbits shivered against the cold, Aragorn's face crusted with ice and snow. Legolas and the twins stood under an outcropping of rock, having sustained no damage in the small avalanche, yet they were bundled against the blizzard as well. Nieriel still gripped Sam to her, her fingers wrapped tightly around his shoulder, as she braved the cold to speak to Gandalf.

"We have to find another way!"

"We cannot pass over the mountain; let us go under it! Let us go through the Mines of Moria!" Gimli said above the noise of the storm.

Gandalf hesitated, and Nieriel felt herself grow flustered. The longer they dwelled, the more at risk they were at being buried alive in this maelstrom!

"Let the Ring-bearer decide."

Nieriel's eyes flared wide. "Gandalf, do not do this! One sour decision has led us here—"

"There is no other choice!" Elladan shouted over the din, and Nieriel's gaze jerked to him. "We have to make a decision before this mountain falls on our heads!"

She ground her teeth together. While she did not relish the idea of a hobbit choosing their next route, she knew he was right. And truly, the odds were simple in their demise.

Risk the Balrog of Moria, or surely be captured by the enemy who would no doubt be awaiting them in the south.

Frodo raised a trembling hand to pull down his cloak, revealing his chapped lips and windburned face. His voice barely carried over the clamor of the winds, but Nieriel heard him as clear as day. His words struck a chord of dread in her soul.

"We will go through the Mines."


	11. Chapter 11: Company Comes a Callin'

**Chapter Eleven: Company Comes a Callin'**

The Fellowship made it down the mountain from whence they came without difficulty thanks to whatever god had been watching. And to be even more gracious for, with every step of the descent they made the snow fell lighter and the air got less bitter, though it never fully lost its winter's chill.

Dawn had broken the night sky with her pink and orange streaks as they had reached the base of the mountain. Everyone had been sagging with exhaustion, windburnt, and stiff, so they made camp and rested well into the evening. Nieriel had been completely drained, her reserves of strength and perseverance spent, and had slept longer than usual, only waking when the hobbits began to clamor about as they started supper.

Elladan and Elrohir, as well as Aragorn and Legolas, had taken to the countryside late in the day to scout; they had returned during supper to deem their campsite safe for the time being. They decided to spend the night alongside the mountain, knowing it would do them no good to traverse untrodden lands in the dark as they still recovered from the day before. And so, bundled against the cold and thankfully out of the reach of the snow, they slept some more.

The morning to follow was overcast and blustery, and as they packed up the camp it was in silence. The hobbits were mourning the loss of their pony Bill, who they had to turn away in favor of the Mines, while Nieriel remained apprehensive on the situation that awaited them. Even though Gimli thought his cousin and kin were alive and well in the Mines, Nieriel had another feeling, a weary inkling. There were rumors…

_Durin's Bane… _A stealth of a tremor slithered up her spine as she removed her satchels from Stormwind's chassis. _Perhaps what they say is not true; perhaps Balin lives, and the dwarves are thriving in their ancient mountain home. Perhaps the orcs had not overrun it so long ago, and that was merely a fable to keep enemies away. _The weary inkling festered; the more she thought about it, the more the shadows along the mountain grew as the sun rose high, the more suffocating her dread became.

_I have never been there, Strider has never been there, and neither Elladan nor Elrohir. It could take us days, weeks to cross through the Mines, and then what if we get lost? We only have so much food and water… Surely Gandalf knows the way? He would not lead us astray._

Her eyes flickered to her companions briefly; Strider talking with Legolas, the twins finishing up their breakfast, Boromir and Gimli sharing a pipe, Gandalf patting Bill on the muzzle affectionately.

_I suppose if I have to trudge the depths of that dark place, the company is not so shabby. _Her hard eyes fell on the hobbits then as Merry and Pippin began to grapple over an apple.

Her lips thinned. _I may rethink that shortly._

She sighed heavily, looping the straps of her satchels over each shoulder. Shaking her head, she moved toward Stormwind's front, running a hand along his flank as she went. She had to turn him loose, for they could bring no beasts within the Mines, and she would miss her companion deeply. She did not worry for him; he knew the way home well and was smart enough to make it, was fast enough to outrun any enemy. She did not relish the fact of him out there alone, and smiled sadly as she fisted the last of her sugar out of her sporran.

"You will give Arwen my regards, will you not?" she asked softly as Stormwind greedily lipped up the sugar. "Do not get into trouble, beast. I will miss you."

Stormwind tossed his head then, his ears swiveling forward as he whickered and stomped a hoof. He looked at her with bright blue eyes as Nieriel looped his reins around the saddlehorn tightly so they would not get caught in any brush.

"Travel swiftly, my friend. Do not tarry; I would like to see you when I get home." She patted him on the shoulder and he whickered again, his white mane shining in the low glimmering light of the sun. Nieriel smiled and then smacked him on the rump, sending the horse off north, and it was not long before he quickly disappeared into the mist. The other horses, having been prepared to depart as well, took off after him, as Bill the Pony trotted to keep up with their long-legged gait.

Nieriel watched Bill until she could no longer see the swishing of his tail, before resituating her cumbersome packs against her sides. With her knives upon her back, her cloak on her shoulders, and now two satchels to carry, she was suddenly filled with frustrating regret. _I should have only packed one; now I will have to trudge all through Moria toting books and—_

"If you would be so kind."

Nieriel looked at the extended hand before her, before following the limb to the chassis it belonged to, and then connecting that chassis to a face. She scowled up at Legolas, lost on his meaning.

"Your bags." Legolas said, waving his hand at which she carried.

"What about them?"

"I will take them now."

Nieriel's scowl deepened. "I carry my own bags."

"They look quite heavy. What do you have in there, books?" His eyes twinkled.

Nieriel flushed. "I have been carrying my own weight for years. I am fine." She tried to brush past him, and rightly so the leather ties of one of her bags snagged on a nearby bush. She fumbled, getting yanked back by the bramble, and lost her bag to the ground. Mortified, she stooped to collect it and untangle her belongings, cursing whatever god of mischief thought tormenting her was uproariously funny.

She was about to stand out of her crouch, her bag looped back over her shoulder, when Legolas brushed past her, knocking the bag back to the dirt. She glared hotly at his back as he glanced over his shoulder and said, "Do not dawdle, Nieriel. We have to be on our way."

* * *

It took the better part of the day, but around mid-afternoon the Fellowship and its companions arrived at the West-door of Moria. The sun had come out from behind her clouds, but under the shadow of the mountains and the skeleton trees that made up the uneven, rock-filled path to the door, the allegiance was left in shadow. Nieriel brought up the rear of the group as they passed a wide lake which rested before the doors, her eyes raking the shadows, scouring the dismally grey cliffs of the Silvertine to her left. The further they had walked, the sicker to stomach she had gotten, and as then end of their path opened up ahead, the sickness turned to black dread.

The hobbits began to whisper excitedly between themselves and she heard Sam say, "Wait 'til I tell my old gaffer about this!"

_There is nothing to tell_, she thought darkly, her eyes darting keenly over the still waters to her right. A chill breeze rippled the branches of the trees, causing them to cackle in the brittle air, and her eyes brought her up to the crows that rested on the limbs, their beady eyes watchful. Waiting. She narrowed her own; they were not a good omen. _We may not make it out of here alive._

Gandalf was the first to approach the door, which did not look like a door at all. Set in the face of the mountain, the only way it was discernable under the vines and weeds and the barren oak that loomed over it were the Elvish words etched high above, which Gandalf now uncovered with the help of his staff. Nieriel could faintly make out the outline of a great arch, swinging high above Gandalf's pointed hat. Upon further reveal, she saw that the arch descended to make a silhouette of a door two full arms' span wide, and was framed by two large columns and decorated with writhing trees and peppered with embellishments and filigree.

"What does it say?" Merry asked in his strange Shire lilt. The hobbits had gaggled closely behind Gandalf to peer up at the inscription as the rest of the company created a semi-circle behind them, in awe of the structure. Nieriel, however, remained wary, looking over her shoulder at the still loch of water once more. _I hope beyond hope that the stories I have heard are not true about this lake…_

"'_Ennyn Durin Aran Moria. Pedo Mellon a Minno. Im Narvi hain echant. Celebrimbor o Eregion teithant i thiw hin_.'" Elrohir replied absently with a frown, drawing a drab look from the hobbit.

"If I could read Elvish, I wouldn't have asked."

Elrohir shot him a glare as Legolas replied, "'The Doors of Durin, Lord of Moria. Speak, friend, and enter. I, Narvi, made them. Celebrimbor of Hollin drew these signs.'"

"Well we've spoken!" Pippin intoned cheerily, brushing past Gandalf. "Let's open them!"

Nieriel withered a glare at Pippin as Merry and Frodo sprang forth to help him push against the stone. Sam noticed her look and asked, "What is it?"

"You need a password." she replied, as the hobbits continued to struggle, grunting and groaning with all the subtlety of a pack of cave trolls. "They can be opened from the inside, but not out without one."

"A password? Well that's silly! How is a password to work on a stone door?" Pippin exclaimed with a snort, as if that were the most absurd thing in the world.

"Balin!" Gimli suddenly boomed, startling the hobbits into stillness. He swaggered forward and rapped the butt of his axe on the door, calling, "It's your cousin Gimli! Open the door, let us come in and welcome you!"

"Be silent!" Nieriel hissed, as Gandalf reached out to still Gimli's blade.

"That will not work, Gimli." Gandalf said patiently, and Nieriel rolled her eyes. "She is right; you need a password."

"Well what is it?" Frodo asked, staring up at Gandalf with wide, blue eyes.

The wizard, however, looked sheepish. Nieriel's dread turned to absolute defeat when Gandalf replied, "I do not know it."

* * *

Hours passed. The sun dipped beyond the mountain, chilling the air further. The hobbits had eaten a quaint supper of dried pork and (stupidly, in her opinion) the last of their bread while Gandalf stood before the Door of Durin tiring out another feeble attempt to open it. Nieriel was sitting atop a stone, her packs removed, watching the hobbits share a pipe while Strider walked the length of the water, his eyes on the surrounding cliffs. Elladan and Elrohir were sitting near Gandalf, speaking in low tones in Elvish about how to open the door, and Boromir was laid out on a nearby rock, his eyes heavy-lidded. Gimli had plopped next to the door and stared up at it in bafflement, and many a times throughout the evening had mused irritably why Balin had not opened the door, did not know they were there.

_Because Balin is no more. _Nieriel thought, casting a glance at Legolas as he stood from his own spot. _And if I cannot convince Gandalf otherwise, we will not survive this either._

"We risk much by staying here." Legolas said, and Nieriel nodded absently as he crossed his arms over his chest, coming to stand by her. Her eyes wandered toward the movement, to his muscles flexed and his broad chest, but she hastily looked to the loch, straightening to sit tall on her rock and fighting a blush with everything she possessed.

She cleared her throat before she said, "I do not like this. We are in a precarious place, on unknown terrain, with enemies around every corner. I can almost feel as though something is going to go horribly wrong."

Legolas cocked his head to one side, grinning at her. "And here I thought you were fun."

Nieriel shot him a glare. "I do not relish the fact of running from an innumerable amount of orcs in such a confined place, through lands I am unfamiliar with, with the threat of a balrog looming over me, and such heady liabilities at my back."

Legolas chuckled and Nieriel's spine tingled. She told herself it was from the cold, not the deep timbre of his voice. "All the more for the challenge."

"What's this about a challenge?" Gimli interjected, and Nieriel rolled her eyes so hard she almost feared they would get stuck in the back of her head.

She was tired, frustrated, and filthy. She hadn't bathed in a week. She was pretty sure there was orc blood caked under her leathers somewhere where the sun did not shine. She had to set her beloved horse free, she was stuck with a band of insufferable hobbits, their food supply was dwindling, they had been rerouted numerous times, and now to be tormented more by the dwarf?

She was swiftly losing her patience.

"It seems Nieriel is not one for sport." Legolas said, and Nieriel _almost_ told him to go drown in the loch.

"Worried about Moria, are you lass?"

Nieriel gritted her teeth against the slight. "I am _not_ a lass."

"Worry not!" Gimli exclaimed, clamoring to his feet. He thumped his chest like the Neanderthal he was and continued, "My cousin Balin—"

"Will give us a royal welcome. Yes, I know, you have said." Nieriel cut him off.

Gimli gave her a funny look. "You know—"

"I do not want to know."

"—I have never met a woman more cantankerous than you." Gimli continued as if she had not spoken, and Nieriel hissed softly in his direction while Legolas threw back his head and laughed.

"And I have never met a woman who talks so much." Nieriel snapped, and Legolas laughed even harder.

"It is no wonder—"

"Thin ice, dwarf." Nieriel purred, slowly withdrawing one of the blades hidden along her forearm in warning.

"—that you are considered a shrew, have never been married or even courted." Gimli continued without heed.

The knowledge stung, the _truth _stung, but Nieriel drowned the feeling. _Is that true? Am I called a shrew?_

"I second that." Legolas said, _just_ to get under her skin. Which it did.

_Does he really mean it?_

"The smartest thing you have said since I have met you!" Gimil chortled, slapping Legolas on the back. The elf, surprised by the strength, staggered a step, and Nieriel had to choke back her own laugh as he skittered over a tumble of rocks.

Gimli sighed loudly. "And I was on the verge of having high hopes for you, elf."

Legolas righted himself, turned narrow eyes on Gimli. "What do you mean?"

"You have proved slightly formidable thus far, having kept up with a dwarf and what not. But to be felled by a mere slap?" Gimli shook his head dramatically. "Scrawny, frail thing you are."

As Legolas righted his clothes he sneered, "We do not want to know what your mother's first words were when she saw you, dwarf."

Gimli instantly turned the shade of a tomato. "H-how _dare_ you talk about my mother!"

Nieriel was laughing uncontrollably as Gandalf sighed over the booming of Gimli's bellow, plopping down on the rock next to the now-asleep Boromir.

Legolas opened his mouth to respond to Gimli as the dwarf drew up to confront him, but Aragorn cut a hand through the air, "Be quiet. There is evil that lurks here. We do not want to wake it. We have already made enough noise as it is."

"And we have overstayed our welcome." Elladan said to Gandalf, and the weary wizard looked his way. "We have one choice left, Gandalf. We must make for the Gap of Rohan."

Gandalf shook his head, raising from his perch once more. "I know this way. I have come by it before." He lowered his voice and cast his eyes to the ground, as if to hide his guilty countenance. "Though it was from the inside."

"Gandalf, he is right." Aragorn replied. "We risk much by staying here."

"Just give me time." Gandalf looked at Aragorn over his shoulder as he approached the door. He lifted his staff to place the crown against the stone, and began speaking in a language Nieriel did not know.

"We do not have time." Nieriel murmured, sheathing her blade once more.

"I agree with you." Legolas told her, and Nieriel raised a brow in question. He looked affronted as he said, "What? Can I not do so?"

"You have done everything but; forgive me if I question your motives."

"You wound me." Legolas said, a hand on his heart in mock hurt, even though his eyes sparkled. It was a trait that he exuded much, one she denied she enjoyed. "You are such a shrew as they say."

"Do you not think you have irritated her enough?" Elladan asked loudly from his seat on the ground. "You do nothing but demean and provoke her. Leave her be."

"As do you?" Legolas retorted, and Nieriel frowned at the two males, especially when Elladan rose in a quick spurt of hostility. His brother followed suit hurriedly, in an act to quell the storm of anger about to break.

"Do not start this." Nieriel said as she hurried to her feet, her eyes darting for backup. Gimli was watching the exchange with rapt attention, Boromir was seemingly asleep, the hobbits were boisterously laughing amongst themselves, and Aragorn was looking at Nieriel very oddly.

"If I am not mistaken, Nieriel has had no qualms about my _pestering _in the past." Legolas said with no small amount of smug, and Nieriel slipped swiftly between the two males, giving her back to Elladan while her eyes were hard on Legolas.

"Stop this." She placed a hand on his chest and then immediately regretted it. Before her fingers could curl she removed her hand as if scalded, and turned to glare at Elladan. "You two are acting like petty children, and for no apparent reason."

She turned her eyes to Strider then, for even an inkling of help, but he merely raised a brow at the bizarre behavior. Nieriel stifled an angry growl just as Legolas stepped back, drawing her attention once more with his smirk.

"I will have my kerchief back, then." he told her, holding out a slender hand.

_His kerchief…?_ Nieriel's eyes flared wide, and she was shocked into stillness as his meaning hit her.

_I have kept it all this time._

When she did not bend to his wishes as quickly as he would have liked, Legolas waggled his brows at her, wiggling his fingers as his smirk threatened to blossom into a grin.

Huffing, Nieriel ripped open her sporran and handed him the scrap of linen she had meticulously scrubbed clean of her blood. She thrust her hand out to him and, with his eyes flickering to Elladan, Legolas bowed over her hand, his own lingering against her skin. "My thanks, my lady."

_Can no one say my name? _Nieriel thought irritably, her face flaming. She thought she heard a growl emanate from behind her where Elladan stood, but Gandalf was chanting so loudly that her head was threatening to pound.

She snatched her hand back from Legolas and then moved out from between the males, taking her perch on the rock once more. Gimli was staring at her in dumbfounded awe and as Nieriel glanced up, she found Elrohir pulling Elladan away from Legolas, who stared at the latter with ice in his eyes. Her own orbs wandered to Aragorn to find the ranger watching the exchange blandly, but when he felt Nieriel looking at him he raised a brow to her once more.

_Do not even go there, ranger_. She glared. Hard.

Aragorn bowed his head in acknowledgment of her silent warning and turned away, but not before she caught a smile tilting his lips.

* * *

Night had overtaken the sky. The light of the stars gleamed overhead, causing the etchings inscribed on Durin's Door to glimmer in their low light. Gandalf had given up his pursuit an hour ago and now sat staring glumly at the door. The hobbits were resting around a small fire while Gimli sat at the water's edge, sharpening his axe. The rest of the males lounged around in various spots of comfort while Nieriel joined Gandalf on his rock, feeling as miserable as he looked.

"Will you admit now that this was a fool's journey?" Nieriel asked softly, not unkindly. "We should never have come here Gandalf."

The wizard sighed. "I do not know why this has slipped my memory."

"Could it be because you are quite old?" Nieriel jested, nudging him with a smile.

Gandalf chuckled, eyeing Nieriel. "I suppose it could be."

"If we head west we can cross the Swanfleet; you know the area is uninhabited, for not even our enemy would traipse there. We could follow the North-South road and then make for the Angren. That would lead us to the Gap of Rohan. It will take longer, but it will lead us out of the path of Isengard; it is the safest road we can manage."

"A fine conclusion. At any rate, that is all the choice that is left to us, for no one else offers anything." Gandalf looked at Nieriel, and then the Door. "I like this place even less than you do, Nieriel."

"We should not stay the night. We need to get on our feet and get moving."

Gandalf nodded, though it was slightly resigned. "I know." He glanced over his shoulder, at the hobbits who were still talking amongst themselves, though every once in a while their eyes flickered to the gleaming door.

"Do you regret bringing them along?" Nieriel asked gently. She could see the sadness in Gandalf's eyes, could feel the wave of guilt as it passed over him just briefly.

"I regret that I may have stolen their happiness, if only for a time." he replied. "They have never known strife such as this."

"Yet it was only a matter of time before their home was invaded and then ultimately destroyed. Perhaps you did them a favor." Nieriel said.

Gandalf smiled, though it was a weak smile. "I like to think I did."

"What does it mean by '_speak, friend, and enter', _Gandalf? It's the only part of the riddle that is truly buggering me." Merry called from his spot on the ground.

_Riddle? _Nieriel thought with a frown. _Those inscriptions are no riddle…_

Gandalf's eyes widened, and he moved so swiftly that Nieriel nearly toppled from the rock. The wizard suddenly stood with a renewed vigor, his eyes alight as he stared at the door in blossoming excitement.

"That's it!" He laughed loudly, rapping his staff on the ground twice as he stood tall in front of the door, his spine straight. Enunciating proudly, he said, "_Mellon_."

At once the door groaned and heaved. Nieriel's eyes widened and she scrambled to her feet as those around her did as well, clamoring before the great, creaking entry. She breathed a sigh of wonder as the doors parted and spread out, leaking musty air from the confines of the abyss of which it kept at bay.

"_Moria_." Gimli breathed reverently from his own rock, his axe limp in his hands.

"Haha!" Pippin cheered, grabbing at his pack. "You did it Gandalf!"

Nieriel gaped at Gandalf, and he smiled widely at her. "Ladies first."

"What are we waiting for!" Gimli jumped from his rock, tumbling other smaller ones into the water by his feet. "Let us embark into the splendorous halls which await us!"

Nieriel felt something brush against her hand, and she looked down to see her forgotten packs near her grasp. Looking up she met Elladan's gaze, and with a look of softened contrition she took the packs from him. The others around her began to right their wares, preparing to head into the confines while she gazed at Elladan, her heart suddenly in her throat.

_I should apologize to him, I was too harsh—_

Her ear twitched. Nieriel looked over her shoulder, past the riotous hobbits, Boromir and Aragorn belting their swords about their waists, and Gimli marching toward the open door. Her brow furrowed as she peered over the stillness of the water, which suddenly was not so still. _Where did those ripples come from?_ Her ear twitched again and she felt her heart rate increase, her breathing become shallow in her sudden, seering panic.

_Something is wrong_, she thought, a split second before her thoughts proved true.

The serene glass-like façade of the water fragmented into a scene out of her nightmares. Countless writhing tentacles broke the surface of the waters, as thick as tree trunks and as pale as death, swirling up towards the sky in blind outrage. A monstrous roar shook the rockface as a creature from the depths of the loch burst forth, spewing water and causing mountainous waves to crash to the shore. The crows that had been watching squawked and took flight, but were brought to earth by the flailing tentacles whirling in the air. The beast was formless, unlike anything she had ever seen, but bigger than the trees surrounding her and seeming to grow as it rose from the depths, dripping putrid water and ugly water weeds.

"_Into the Mines!_" Gandalf bellowed, and with half of their packs forgotten, everyone charged for the door.

But the beast was quick.

Frodo, _ever the buffoon!_ immediately found himself at the mercy of one who those writhing tentacles. Nieriel watched in horror as it wrapped around his ankle and yanked him high above the water, above the shrieking creature's gaping mouth riddled with saw-like teeth.

"_Aragorn!_"

At once Nieriel's hands were on her blades, just as quickly as Strider unsheathed his sword. Legolas was already letting loose arrows, one after another, and it wasn't too soon after that Elladan and Elrohir joined him. Nieriel leapt into a quick sprint, ducking low under one sweeping tentacle to come up and slice another. Another swipe of her opposite blade had the monster flailing as it lost a slender limb, and Frodo was transferred to another as the beast struck at her. She skidded on rocks in a crouch to avoid the blow, stopping just at the edge of the water when realization registered.

_Gimli! _She scrambled from the edge on unsteady feet as a flurry of arrows held the closest tentacles at bay for her to retreat to safety. _It was his fault for stirring the beast with his clumsiness!_

"Get the hobbits to safety!" Aragorn grabbed her arm, hoisting her to steady feet as he fended off another tentacle with his sword, arrows on his cover.

Nieriel spared only a second to nod; she knew her short blades and her skills at close combat would be no use here. Sliding over the loose earth, she bolted for the other hobbits, grabbing Sam and Pippin by the scruff of their collars. When she met hard resistance she gritted her teeth, a sweat breaking over her brow, and pulled harder.

_Has the creature snagged them as well?_

She spared a look over her shoulder and met the angry gaze of Sam. "I'm not leaving Mr. Frodo!"

Her jaw fell open. _You have got to be—_

The beast roared then, and water sloshed over their frames in a horrendous wave. She tugged harder, and her strength must've surprised the hobbit because he gave up ground, stumbled at her feet. Nieriel used the momentum to pull him within ten paces of the Door, but he fought her tooth and nail.

Literally.

_Heathen!_ She just stopped herself from walloping him in the back of the head. Pippin was proving just as cumbersome, even as the battle raged in the background.

"You will _die here_!" Nieriel shouted, her eyes flickering to the males. Aragorn was at the water's edge, barely holding off a score of tentacles. Elladan and Elrohir, along with Legolas, were aiming for the creature's head with their arrows, but its thick tentacles were bashing them away like flies. Frodo was still in the creature's grasp, but Boromir was hacking away at the arm that held him, slicing angrily, fiendishly. Gandalf stood near the mouth of the Mines, holding Merry by the shoulders, and Gimli was beckoning them on with grisly bellows.

"He will be all right!" Nieriel found herself saying, her brow coming out of its hard furrow, her shout softening to a plea. "You _must_ come with me _now_!"

Sam stared at her hard, but another roar from the creature had him paling. Nieriel tightened her grip and yanked, pulling both hobbits toward the Door.

Toward the abyss.

She all but threw them over the threshold, and Gandalf followed them in. She turned to watch the battle, not yet out of harm's way herself, and had to jump out of the way as Strider came barreling through the door with Frodo in his arms. Elladan and Elrohir quickly followed, and Boromir behind them. Legolas was backing toward the Door, shooting his quiver near empty, trying his damndest to keep the beast at bay.

"Legolas!" Nieriel shouted, her eyes wild, her heart pounding from the adrenaline coursing through her. "It is lost!"

He glanced over his shoulder at the sound of her voice, and a tentacle slithered out quicker than he could account for. Gimli jumped from a nearby rock with his axe raised above his head, slicing the limb clean from its chassis, and it gave Legolas the leave he needed to escape death's clutches. He quickly lunged for the Door, Gimli trailing in his wake, as the creature gave a horrendous roar and began to pull itself from the water, much to everyone's abject terror.

_Not just in water but on land it comes too! What have we awakened?_

Legolas paused by her, his eyes meeting her own. Nieriel's heart seized its incessant pounding, and her breath slowed as time came to a crawl. Time seemed to shatter, however, when the ground began to rumble and rocks began to fall from above.

"Quickly!" Gandalf cried, and Nieriel broke the gaze to look back at him, and then the beast.

Who was not more than fifteen paces from the mouth of the Mines.

She felt a burly hand around her wrist before she could even contemplate what was happening. With a harsh yank, Gimli pulled her over the threshold and together they toppled down a slight slope of stairs, along with everyone else, as the Watcher in the Water slammed into the side of the Silvertine. But it could go no further. Darkness abounded as rocks and boulders fell from the ceiling, blocking the doorway and crushing the creature, ending its life.

There was more than one cry of fear as dust plumed about them and throats were clogged by the stagnant debris, leading to fits of coughing. Jagged rocks and an uneven terrain tore at clothes and flesh alike as they fell, and weapons, bags, and pots and pans clanged loudly in their wake. Nieriel finally came to a flailing halt atop Gimli, hacking away her lungs, pebbles stuck to the skin of her hands which she had raised to cover her face. There was a myriad of groans around her, more than one angry, "Get off me!" but as she retained a sense of being, she realized they were shrouded in absolute darkness, the air around them so still, stale in its age.

_Moria. _Beyond her wildest fascinations and spanning every nightmare she could ever conceive, they had arrived. But for the life of her she could not see a thing! That is, until a blaze of light emanated from Gandalf's staff, causing her to cringe and look away briefly, so her eyes could adjust.

And then what she saw left her breathless.

Climbing to her feet ever so slowly, Nieriel looked around what must have been the welcoming hall of Moria. With widened eyes she slowly spun, taking in the vast columns that spanned stories, holding up the mountainous ceiling so far above her head. Carved from grey stone of wonder, the cavern extended past from where the light illuminated, revealing a time long past, long forgotten. The hall gave way to archways on her right, which no doubt led to the bowels of this foul place. Before her, in the wide and ample hall, there were wooden benches with their thick table counterparts set up as if to be served, the lot of them resting before a dais boasting a burly pair of thrones. Nieriel could imagine the dwarves sitting at those tables, merrily sharing war stories and drinking thick mead. The benches of sturdy oak were embellished with fine upholstery, and the tapestries depicting battle scenes and everyday life that lined the walls awed her in their size and detail.

However the tables went untouched, were covered in dust and notched with age. The benches were upturned or broken and lined with cobwebs, and the tapestries barely hung by a thread. The proud emblems and flags of the dwarves drooped faded and limp, the weapons that decorated the walls blunt and forgotten. There were no sconces lit, no torches blazing warm light, the hearths on either side of the expansive room were cold, and there were no welcoming greetings from barrel-chested dwarfs. No. The place was eerily quiet and still.

Foreboding.

"Balin!" Gimli bellowed, starling Nieriel. She whipped her head around to glare at him, and even moved to pelt him on the head with the back of her fist when he opened his mouth to shout again. "Bal—"

"Enough!" Gandalf hissed, spinning so his staff radiated its white light to scour the dwarf.

"You do not want to wake what lies here." Boromir intoned, slowly turning in a circle.

_We are not safe here. _Nieriel thought, wiping dust from her brow. _And now there is only one way out. On the other bloody side of this damnable mountain._

Everyone had come to their feet then, and Nieriel surveyed the group. Sam sported a fat lip no doubt from catching an elbow during the tumble, to which Nieriel thought, _serves him right. _Frodo looked winded and paler than usual, but he had survived the Watcher, and was clutching the Ring in his shaking grasp. For the most part everyone else seemed unharmed from their unplanned trip down the stairs, albeit a bit dirtier than they would have liked.

Unwillingly, Nieriel's eyes traipsed slowly back to Frodo, to the Ring he absently smoothed a thumb over in his hand. Her eyes fell hooded, her breaths beginning to ease ever so slightly as she watched his rhythmic movements.

_Such power, just there… I wager the Ring would see us safely from this place, would show us the way—_

"Such as my kin?" Gimli hollered, hefting his axe over his shoulder; he would remain so disbelieving, would not relinquish his hope. "They must be here somewhere!"

Nieriel shook her head violently, dragging her gaze swiftly away from Frodo. Her heartbeat ratcheted up a notch as her mind enveloped over what had just happened.

_That talisman just dug its vicious claws into _me_… _She shuddered, began to follow Gimli as he walked in the opposite direction of the dais, through an archway that nearly touched the ceiling and was flanked by four others. _I have been on this quest too long…_

Her gaze brought her back to Frodo then, where he walked under the steady hand of Aragorn. _If I felt but an inkling of its power, then what is it doing to that hobbit day in and day out?_

The thought troubled her. Frodo had not lived for long ages, knew no evil in his life. He was not trained in battle, could not ward against such vile creatures as what the Shadow could bring. Intrinsically she knew he was needed, that so much rested on his shoulders, but could he handle the burden? When the time came to expel the Ring, could Frodo be the one to do it? _He is pure of heart, _Gandalf had told her, and not for the first time did Nieriel muse, _all the more easy to corrupt. For that is lust; to desire something you have never had, that you cannot have._

_ And power is power._

They walked under the dark threshold of the archway, Nieriel falling into step next to Elrohir as her eyes brought her upwards. Her gait was slightly stiff from her short tumble, but her leather armor had kept her from the worst of any scrapes and bruises. The twin glanced at her now, asking softly in Elvish, "Are you all right?"

She clipped her head in a short nod, pushing an unruly strand of damp hair from her eyes. She smelled like fetid water, as well as dirt and grime. "As well as I can be. I do not like this place."

"Neither do I." Elrohir replied, keeping to Elvish. "This place is rumored to have been overrun by orcs and the deeper we go, the more I am partial to believing that. This does not look like a place that has been inhabited in even the past year."

"And Durin's Bane…" _The balrog. _"It is here somewhere."

Nieriel's green gaze flickered to Gandalf, who cautiously walked before Gimli, his sword in one hand and staff in the other. Her gaze brought her back to Elrohir then, and Nieriel thought he looked much like his father in this moment, more so than he usually did; his countenance was very grim. He took after Elrond more than Elladan did, was the more stern and levelheaded of the twins. He had been the voice of reason many a times growing up, and when he had outgrown his youth he became cautious, more stoic than his hot-headed brother. He still held the same god-like good looks that Elladan beheld, but his were more subdued by his careful nature. He did not smile as often as his brother and his laughter was few and far between. However he was a fierce warrior with more courage and loyalty in his heart than Nieriel thought anyone possessed, as deadly a bowman as he was a swordsman.

"I do not think Gandalf knows the way." Elrohir told her, as Gimli led them into a room off of the darkened hall they had been traipsing, looking for any hint of his kin. They had passed gouges in the walls a half a foot deep, dust-covered suits of armor that had been dented or had fallen in shambles to the floor. Nieriel kept listening for sounds in the distance, maybe a hint of some danger, but there was nothing. And it bothered her.

_It is quiet because those that lurk hide from something, _her conscience warned her.

"And if not him who does? How do we cross the Mines to come to the East-Door?" Nieriel asked in Elvish, and she was keen on the fact that Aragorn was listening, as well as Legolas.

"I do not know." Elrohir murmured, as Gimli led them out of what looked to be an antiquated sitting room, and down the hall once more.

"Someone needs to think of something." Nieriel said heatedly, making sure her voice carried to those who did understand Elvish. Aragorn looked at her from beneath his lashes, acknowledging her irritation, and Elladan sharply inclined his head in agreement. "The longer we wander around not knowing where we are going, the more lost we will be. And I am not keen on dying in squalor." She spoke in Westron then, so everyone could understand, "Where are you leading us Gandalf?"

"I am following a way that is known to me." The wizard answered cryptically, exasperating Nieriel. But she knew from the tone of his voice she would get no more from him.

They carried on like this for some time; Gimli searching for his lost kin, Gandalf precariously guiding the way with his illuminated staff, the hobbits growing slower and slower with their exhaustion. As hard as Nieriel listened and looked for danger there was none, yet that uneasy feeling to her bones would not be shaken. The other warriors of the group seemed to hinge on caution as well, all except Gimli who grew more and more distraught the further they embarked into the Mines without any sign of his kin.

They stopped for a small respite at what Nieriel could only guess was early morning, for there were no windows down here, no fresh air. This left her own edge; she loved the sun, being out in the open, in nature, free to roam and explore. This closeness, this dank earth and dark hollows, had her restless and unable to sleep. She watched the others slumber, even went off for a while to search the surrounding ground, but her travels came up with nothing except a deeper sense of dire portending. She woke the others after a few hours and passed around apples to keep the hobbits happy; she knew they had to keep moving.

Gandalf had taken up the lead, and for what felt like days but she knew had only been an hour or two, they followed him deeper. The air got thicker, the scents around more putrid, and Nieriel got a feeling of unrestrained dread when she caught a whiff of death on the wind. Like bones, not so much rotting flesh, but old, dried, decaying bones…

"Balin!" Gimli startled her _again_, however this time his voice was not a bellow, was more of a strangled plea. Nieriel's heart lurched as she turned her gaze to him, and she found she could not muster the drive to be so callous and glare.

"Ah gods man, where are ye?" His brogue had thickened in his despair. He no longer walked with that proud swagger, but a slow, unsteady gait, his shoulders slack, his limbs trembling.

They turned a bend and came to the end of another hall, much to Nieriel's annoyance. _What is this now? The third? Fourth? _She turned to walk the way they came, looking for a new path, but Gimli suddenly gasped and took off in a sprint for a room at the end of the hall, and looking between one another in befuddlement, the others cautiously followed.

The room's gaping doorway was wide enough to allow three bodies to pass at once, and as Nieriel neared the room, she noticed it appeared subtlety lighter than the others, as if there were a window in there. Curiosity nudged her but she hung back from the group, fingers curling and uncurling, preening for the feel of her knives as her gaze darted along the beaten walls, along the scrapes in the stone floor.

_This way looks more stricken than the others, _she thought, looking to the ceiling, to the abandoned orc weapons laying scattered on the floor. It did not slip her notice that there was a skeleton or two, shriveled in the corner in a cowering position. The closer she walked toward the room, the more debris she noticed, the more frenzied the marks on the floor, the wall.

_There was a battle here, _she thought, just as Gimli cried, "_Ah Balin no!_"

Nieriel came to stand in the doorway, surveying what could only be described as a dried and withered sight of a massacre. Skeletons littered the strange cavernous room, which appeared to have some sort of historical significance with its stone pillars in all four corners and an arcing circle of ten tombs with a pedestal at the center, which held an ancient tome and a withered quill. There was indeed a window high near the ceiling, no bigger than a foot in width and length, and Nieriel looked up at it with longing, wishing it were not so out of reach. Suits of armor lined the outskirts of the room, short and mighty and bearing different weapons yet dusted over in disuse and missing pieces here and there. She sighed, watching as Gimli climbed up a short set of stairs to a stone tomb that looked less worn than the others, her brow softening as he ran gentle fingers over the words inscribed there.

_ The talk is true; they are all dead._

"We should never have come here." Legolas told Aragorn in a rough whisper of Elvish just beyond Nieriel. Strider glanced at Legolas, would not admit the rightness of his statement, as Gandalf slowly wound his way around the bodies littering the cavern and picked up the old, decrepit book resting on the pedestal.

"We cannot linger here any longer. We cannot go back the way we came, but we need to move on, to find a way out."

_Which is where? _Nieriel thought bitterly, her eyes flickering to Gandalf. Not for the second time, she thought, _we are to die down here._

"'They have taken the Bridge and the second hall. We have barred the gates, but cannot hold them for long. The ground shakes...drums in the deep...we cannot get out. A shadow moves in the dark. Will no one save us? They are coming…'" Gandalf looked up from the tome, his lips thinned. Gimli was sobbing over the tomb of his cousin Balin, the hobbits frozen in their fear, listening as Gandalf read ominously from the book.

"We have to get out of here, Gandalf, by any means necessary." Nieriel said, drawing the wizard's gaze. Her heart pained for Gimli; she knew what it was like to lose kin, to feel that desolate, aching void where there had once been love and warmth.

"I say we split up." Boromir said, as Gimli growled and straightened, grabbing at his axe with renewed vigor.

"I say we find these buggers and _kill them all!_"

"We do not even know where we are going; what good would it do for us to split up?" Nieriel sneered at Boromir.

"We could cover more ground, reconvene at a meeting place." Borormir defended his position, and Nieriel shook her head starkly. "Anything is better than this miserable place."

"Arguing solves as much as doing nothing at all. We are getting nowhere." Aragorn said, with a heavy sigh. "I do not know this place, Gandalf does not know this place… We are lost."

The truth of it made Nieriel cringe, and panic again gripped her heart, so tightly that it stole her breath for a moment. _Lost. Lost in this horrible, decrepit place. Lost in the dark, in the shadows, in the deep of the earth. The air is tight, there is no wind, there is no grass…_

"I thought…" Gandalf looked so weary then; Nieriel felt a keen sense of pity for him, shoving away her panic. She watched as he removed his hat to scratch his head. "I was following the scent of the air. It seemed cleaner down here, but—"

Suddenly, the silence that had followed them for so long was irrevocably and disastrously shattered.

Nieriel gaped as the suits of armor around the room began to topple. One after the other after the other they collided with one another, like an ill game of dominos, harbingers of doom with their noise. Her heart stuttered to a stop, her breath caught in her throat as she watched them fall, clanging, breaking, and rising plumes of dust in their wake.

When the last had crashed, she brought her eyes to the fore, from whence they had started. And there stood _Pippin _in all of his horrified dismay.

"Fool of a Took!" Gandalf snarled, snapping closed the book. He stepped away from the pedestal, just as Nieriel's ears twitched.

_Oh for Eru's sake… _She unsheathed her blades, her lips thin as she looked at Aragorn, who had whirled at her sudden movements.

"We are in for company." she seethed, turning to face the door.

* * *

_**AN: **_Yes, yes, I know, I was slacking again. No excuse this time, just didn't post. Go on, berate me, I deserve it. Anywho, this extremely long chapter (longest one yet!) should make up for it, no? In any case, please forgive me. I will do my best to be more consistent!

As always, thank you all for being so wonderful.

_xox - ithilbereth_


	12. Chapter 12: Flight of the Fellowship

**Chapter Twelve: Flight of the Fellowship**

Aragorn drew his sword just as swiftly as Boromir, and Nieriel slowly backed away from the thick doorway, twirling her blades to loosen her wrists. Elladan and Elrohir strode forward to peer into the darkness from whence they had came, and Nieriel watched as Elladan's shoulders shot stiff.

"What is it?" she asked, though she already knew.

Elladan was less than grim as he replied. "Orcs."

She heard their scrabbling, their wretched shrieks in the air; the others could not yet, but it was only a matter of time. Their horrific drums began to resonate, growing louder and louder within the cavern and causing the ground to shake, loosening the dust and dirt that had not been stirred for an age. She knew the exact moment the hobbits heard their plight, for Frodo drew his sword while the other three cowered behind him. Nieriel glanced over her shoulder at the gaggle, her heart suddenly tremulous at the sight.

_They do not belong here_, she thought, as she felt a soft wind suddenly ruffled her hair. Sensing a presence next to her, she looked up into Elladan's eyes, storm-grey and ridden with worry.

"Take the hobbits to safety. We will come and find you."

Her patience, already thread-thin, became thinner. "And where, pray tell, is safety? I do not know this place, so perhaps you can give me an inkling?" Her tone was sarcastic, and it tried Elladan's patience.

"This place will be overrun with orcs in less than a minute!" As if she did not already know that! "If you leave now with them, you have a chance at surviving."

"Again I ask you: _run where?_" Nieriel replied, and Elladan opened his mouth to rebuke her. "That is one of the most foolish things you could say," she cut him off, adopting a look of roughened scorn.

His jaw hardened and his face darkened. He looked down at her with anger rife in his gaze, but what a ridiculous notion to bid her to run! _Why this sudden 'I shall save you' mentality? Have I _ever _needed it in the past?_

"Nee—"

"Bar the door!" Boromir called, and Legolas leapt to help Elrohir take up the closing of the great doors. Aragorn and Elladan picked up a beam that had since fallen from the ceiling and placed it over the pulls of the door, but Nieriel knew it would not be enough.

Especially when she got a trace of the filth of a cave troll on the air.

"Get to the corner." Nieriel gestured to the nearest, jerking with her chin for the hobbits to obey. Instead Sam drew his blade, and she noticed belatedly that Pippin and Merry already had. They held firm their ground, and Nieriel frowned delicately, turning her attention back toward the door.

_Stout of heart, then? _She thought as the drums grew louder, the shrieks more frequent. How many were there? Fifty? One hundred? How many cave trolls would they have in tow?

No matter the odds against her, Nieriel felt passion alight within her. Her heartbeat began to resound with the drums, her blood pumping as hot as the fire of her wrath. Her fingers began to tingle and she whipped her blades with fluids wrists, subtly bouncing from one booted foot to another.

When the first arrow pinged the door, her eyes sharpened. Her other senses heightened as well; she heard Sam's breath hitch, Pippin slide back a step. Elladan straightened his spine to stand tall next to her, each vertebrae cracking, his own anticipation rolling from his frame in hot, crushing waves. Her ears twitched when the first pounding of an axe bludgeoned the door, and not far behind it was the roar and the accompanying wallop of a troll's club. Arrows began to hit the wood in rapid succession, and she heard orcs scrabbling over stone, frenziedly scratching at the door to tear it down. She inched forward a step as a crude hole was formed, knew at any moment the door would explode with the force she perceived behind it.

The door shattered in planks of wood and splinters, and Nieriel ducked as the cave troll lumbered into the room with a bellow, waving his gnarly club. She swept low under his swing and met the first wave of orcs with a sweeping arc of first one blade then the other, taking out a throat, and then an eye. Arrows from Elladan covered her back as she dipped low, splitting one belly open, and then swept to the side in a slide that spliced a throat. Black blood splattered her tunic and leathers as the jugular gaped, the orc grasping at his neck with a dying, gurgling shriek.

The others leapt into battle alongside her. Boromir began hacking away at the fiends while Gimli defended Balin's tomb, swinging his axe like a pendulum. Gandalf used both staff and sword to wield off his foes while Elrohir flanked the door with his own sword. Elladan was letting arrows fly as quickly as he could, hitting his mark more times than not, and Legolas and Aragorn had taken to the cave troll, who was wildly and blindly swinging with all his might as he blundered about the room. The hobbits were defending their position as well as they could, but Nieriel sidled closer; she knew they were wearied, and were as untrained in battle as any greenhorn.

The orcs came in a continuous onslaught. The more she slashed the more violent they became. Sweat began to bead and then to pour down her brow, dampening her tunic, dirtying her leathers. She slipped over uneven stone and the blood beneath her boots, had to use the bulk of her body or her shoulders to sustain any hits that managed to land.

_If I make this out alive, I will be sore come tomorrow, _she thought through gritted teeth, letting out a cry as she cut an enemy arm down to the bone, waylaying the beast enough so Elladan's arrow could pierce his skull.

A sharp roar suddenly rent the air, and Nieriel looked up for a split second to the sound. Legolas had embedded his blades into the shoulders of the troll (how he managed to leap that far, or even get close enough to do so was beyond her), and was holding onto said blades and twisting violently, his feet on the creature's back to steady him, his body at an angle. The beast was livid, was trying to grapple for Legolas with one hand while flailing the other, his club forgotten nearby. Strider was at his feet, swinging his sword in an effort to bring the creature to his knees, his sword slicing, hacking. The troll, in that moment, decided to go for the greater of the two evils: he swept a meaty fist at Aragorn, and although the ranger was quick he was not quick enough to dodge the blow.

"Aragorn!" Nieriel lunged for him, and in doing so took a blade to her upper arm, one which rent her tunic wide. She grimaced but kept on, watching in muted horror as Strider was laid out on the stone floor after slamming into one of the more precarious looking columns.

_Damn that beast! _She thought with a snarl, watching as the thing then plucked Legolas from his back and tossed him to the ground like a discarded rag. The elf ducked into a roll to save himself from the worst of the fall, but became encumbered by a small legion of orcs when he tried to rise to his feet once more.

_I have to get to Strider. _Nieriel sliced right, dodged left, and slid to a crouching halt before the fallen ranger. She bared her blades at the cave troll, but the beast was preoccupied, was lumbering off after the hobbits who were more than overwhelmed by orcs.

"Elrohir!" Nieriel shouted, not wanting to leave Strider, but watching with foreboding as the troll swept his now-in-hand club at the quartet of friends. They scattered like mice, and suddenly Nieriel knew what the troll was after.

_The Ring. _She darted her gaze back to Elrohir, who was closest to Frodo, and he was looking at her across the room while battling four orcs. She pointed with a blade at the troll, who was crushing dead bodies and fallen armor with his heavy footfalls, roaring after Frodo who had leapt behind a column so far away from Nieriel. Elrohir changed his direction, as did Elladan, to go after Frodo, while Nieriel stooped next to Strider, her eyes keen for any orc who darted too close.

"Aragorn!" She shook him violently, but his lead lolled and his eyes remained closed. He was bloodied and sported a black eye, but a trembling hand over his heart confirmed its beating and his breathing.

Nieriel cursed bloodily, so foul she was sure Elrond was cringing all the way in Rivendell. _I do not know what to do! _She knew if she left Aragorn here he would be slayed, for the orcs would leave no body behind, but she had not an inkling…

Her eyes widened. She jerked off her cloak, a gift from the dearest Galadriel when she had celebrated her five three hundredth birthday, and threw it over Strider without a moment to spare. Woven by the Mistress of Magic herself, the cloak was made of the lightest, most durable material, was warm or cool when needed, changed color according to scenery, and _camouflaged the wearer against unfriendly eyes_.

Satisfied that Aragorn would remain unseen if not protected, Nieriel spun on her feet with her blades in her hands. And promptly took a bludgeon to the chest. Her leathers sustained the blunt of the attack as she reared back, windmilling her arms in an effort to stay on her feet. Her grip grew slack and her blades threatened to fall, yet she felt the steadying hand of a wall behind her and was able to right herself, though it hurt to move and her breathing became strained. With a sweep of both of her blades and an angry cry, she split the orc that had bludgeoned her wide at the chest. Another three ran at her, but all three fell at her feet before she could raise her blades. She looked across the spacious room and met the eyes of Elladan, her breath pumping out of her in heavy gasps, causing thrashes of pain to scour her chest. _I had to have cracked some ribs. _However she nodded once and then leapt back into the fray, making her way for the troll.

_Arwen will be so jealous— _she stabbed right, ducked and ran to the left, leaping around a pile of stinking bodies with an arcing slice that left a throat oozing black, tenacious blood. –_if I killed another troll. _She was waylaid momentarily by a ravenous ambush of enemies, yet reveled in the bloodshed as if it was the rainstorm she had enjoyed so many nights ago.

She heard a startled cry then and looked over to see Frodo cowering in a corner from the troll, his sword forgotten. Sam lay in a heap nearby, as still as stone, and Merry and Pippin were barely holding off two of their own foes. The others were clearly inundated with adversaries, Elrohir no longer covering the hobbit, and Nieriel immediately turned her back on her own battle to go to him. It cost her a shove to the back, but a quick twirl and a slice of her blade knocked her attacker to his knees. She leapt across the stairs of Balin's tomb, now unguarded as Gimli had jumped into the middle of the fray, dodging sword thrusts and sporadic arrows. She felt their breath as they soared over her, their vibration as they pinged uselessly next to her boots, yet lengthened her stride, urged her feet to move faster.

_Frodo!_ She watched as the cave troll swung his club with a two-handed grip, taking a large chunk from the pillar the hobbit cowered behind. Rocks fell from the ceiling, however the club became lodged in the column, even as the troll gave a few irate tugs. With a roar he abandoned his weapon and reached for a nearby spear, and Nieriel's eyes flew wide. _Not the spear! _A small club caught her legs then and she went sprawling into a pile of armor, scraping her chin and rattling her teeth.

_I despise orcs! _She kicked viciously, managing to slice one creature down his face but the other grasped her wrist, intending to wrench her blade from her. It shrieked, spittle flying, but an arrow through the temple silenced him and Nieriel was able to clamor to her feet, whirling just in time to watch the cave troll plunge the spear directly into Frodo's chest.

She halted, sliding on the blood soaking the stones below her boots. Her eyes widened to the size of saucers and her face paled as she whispered, "_Frodo_." and the troll snarled, giving the spear a vicious twist. The hobbit reached up to grapple with the weapon but his hands fell limp, and then soon his body as he crumpled to the ground.

The troll reached out for him, his simple mind centered on one thing, but was startled by two cries of fury. Nieriel was shaken from her own astonishment as she watched Pippin and Merry leap upon the troll, hacking at the beast with their short swords. Short of gaping, Nieriel thrust herself back into action, crossing the cavern to help with their plight. Which turned out to be just as short-lived as she had hoped it wouldn't. The troll tossed Merry to the ground with an angry roar, but Pippin, for all his heinous shortcomings, proved to be a tyrant on the beast, stabbing his shoulders with a fiendish frenzy. She swept up behind the troll but immediately found herself on the defensive, for the beast began to lumber about in heavy clumsiness, his arms writhing, his roar deafening.

Nieriel ducked beneath a meaty hand, slid to the right to avoid a lunge from an orc. He crashed into a bloody carcass before turning on her, only to meet a blade through the mouth. He dropped at the same time the troll shrieked, and Nieriel withdrew her knife and spun, her blades at the ready.

Pippin was holding onto the troll's collar as it staggered in misery, a trio of arrows protruding through its chin and skull. Legolas was leaping out of the way of his tromping feet to pick Merry from the ground, and Nieriel instantly charged for Frodo. The ground shook dust from the stone ceiling as the troll collapsed to the floor, a thunderous bellow loosing from deadened lips. The orcs were incensed, charging the attackers, but a flurry of arrows kept her safe and she was able to grapple Frodo into her arms, having knelt by his side.

_This is the third time you have come too close to death! _Nieriel thought, sweating, panting, as she struggled with Frodo's tunic with shaking hands. She expected to find dripping blood, his clothing soaked with it, but was rendered momentarily stunned for a second time when instead she found his heartbeat racing and his chest rising and falling with even breaths.

_Alive? _Nieriel roughly rubbed her knuckles along Frodo's sternum, and watched in bewilderment as he grimaced, and his head lolled first to one side, and then the other. His eyes fluttered, the whites showing, before he blinked against the harsh sounds filling the room and the dust falling from the ceiling.

"For the love of Eru you are alive!" Nieriel shook Frodo, who groaned up at her and closed his eyes once more. "How in the world—"

A low, menacing rumble shook the very cavern. All movement within the room came to a standstill as the orcs froze, their weapons, their leaps, their howls paused in mid-action.

Everyone seemed to hold their breath, as if they did not want to believe the terror of the sound they just heard, even their foes. However the bellow sounded again, even more wrathful than before.

_There is only one creature…_ Those of the Fellowship and their companions watched in muted shock as the orcs scattered, scrambling to get out of the door as quickly as they could. Nieriel's scorching blood turned to the coldest of ice as the orcs screeched in fear, their weapons laying forgotten in their haste to get away from this new horror. She turned her head to first meet the eyes of Elladan, and then Legolas, and finally Gandalf, who stared at the doorway in sallow dread.

"What is this new devilry?" Boromir cried, his shield braced steady, his sword at the ready.

There was only a heartbeat's moment before Gandalf shouted, "_Run!_" swirling in a flash of dirtied grey robes, his staff held high. Nieriel grabbed Frodo by his collar and hauled him to his feet and leapt down from their position as Legolas shoved Merry toward the door, and Pippin began sprinting to follow Boromir. Gimli followed Legolas and his charge out the door and Nieriel kept a hand on Frodo as she called to Elladan and Elrohir, "Go! Fetch Strider!" She flung an arm in his direction and instantly the two ran for him, able to see him beneath her cloak. She wasted not a moment more as another roar of fury caused pebbles to tumble from the ceiling, rocks to tremble on the ground. Frodo shook in her grasp, barely conscious, but she pushed him on, over the threshold and into the darkness of the Mines once more.

_What have we done? _She thought, all but pulling Frodo as she ran after the loping gait of Gimli. She chanced a glance over her shoulder and saw a lethargic Strider stumbling, his head sagging, held up between the sure hands of the twins. Gandalf brought up the rear of the group with Sam before him, pumping his arms with his sword clasped tight.

"Which way Gandalf?" Boromir called from the front of the group, his sword held at the ready.

"Do not follow the orcs!" Gandalf exclaimed, a split second before another roar tore through the Mines. It rattled the armor that lay fallen in the halls, shook the tapestries where they had hung, unmoved, for years.

They ran down the hall they had come before and back into the maze of wider halls they had trekked through day and night, and Nieriel watched as orcs scattered in different directions, becoming scarce, and then not seen at all.

Nieriel's heart was pounding faster than her feet and she was breathless, but she urged herself faster, not allowing her conscience to be overcome by the panic that hedged her mind. _A balrog. A bloody balrog! _A flare of light illuminated the halls then, bright and orange and angry, and Frodo lagged, his horrified face irradiated by the unnatural glow. Nieriel gripped him harder, whispering, "No Frodo! Keep moving!" She pulled on him roughly, urging him to continue, and he fell into her, but picked up the pace once more.

"Head east! For the Bridge of Khazad-dûm!" Gandalf hollered back, and Nieriel had to keep herself from spitting her ire as she sheathed her blades back into her scabbards.

_That bridge is rumored to have fallen! And in any case, which bloody way is east?_

"_Which bloody way is east?_" Boromir roared, though he did not still his urgent fleeing.

"Right! Turn right!"

Following harried commands, the Fellowship wound their way through halls and down winding corridors. By some unmistakable miracle from a greater hand above, after running what felt like miles with the glow of the flame of the balrog looming ever closer behind them, they all plowed over the threshold of a chiseled doorway that led to the Bridge of Khazad-dûm, which was indeed, still standing…in most parts. The cavern which held it was vast, so tall that Nieriel lost her gaze to its height and so deep she could not see the bottom. _Why could it not be a straight bridge across? _Its blackened narrow stairs twisted and writhed down, down, down, seemingly leading directly into a fiery chasm. The room was boiling! _The Mines have caught fire, have been burning for only Eru knows how long!_

Nieriel knew, from Elrond's own stories, that there was a door down there _somewhere _that would lead to the outside world; the door they had been searching for, for days. _The door we will never make it to, not when in flight from _Durin's Bane_._

_Doom. There is nothing but doom that awaits us. To outrun one of the Maiar? _Nieriel could not stop her body from quaking, from both fear and fatigue. Trolls were one thing. Nazgûl another. But a balrog? She would not even pretend to want to combat with one of those corrupted by Morgoth himself, an archaic creature of myth and legend.

Though halted momentarily, the Fellowship dove into action once more as the balrog roared its contempt at being woken. Boromir led the way over the bridge because it was narrow, and they had to file one-by-one. Nieriel kept a hand on Frodo lest he stumble, which would be a fiery and painful death indeed, yet urged him faster. Her legs screamed with pain and her wounds bled angrily onto dirtied skin. Her chest ached from the bludgeon. Sweat stung her eyes. Her hair was a tangled mess and her feet were unsteady, sliding over gaping cracks and stray pebbles. The adrenaline was hot in her veins, but fear was a stark, cold companion inside her heart. _We are not going to make it. Fire below us. A balrog behind us. An unsteady bridge our only way out. Orcs in the shadows. _Nieriel had faced better odds in almost all of her years of living.

_But I cannot die here._

The deeper they traversed the hotter it got, and the more precarious the bridge became. Large sections had been struck from its frame, and more than once she found herself stumbling over a crack, or teetering too close to a ledge. Frodo was gasping for air while Gimli bellowed behind her to keep moving, for them all to have heart and endure. Nieriel tuned him out. It was all she could do not to lurch—

In her haste, she did not perceive the change in momentum in time. Boromir came to a sliding halt as a gape in the bridge they could not transcend loomed before him. The hobbits before her careened onto their backsides in their hurry to stop, and Nieriel used her weight to shift Frodo to the safety of his own rump. However the motion left her unbalanced. She let go of Frodo to catch herself from falling over the side, her arms flailing to try and obtain her balance back. She twisted to avoid both him and slamming into whomever had the misfortune of being behind her, but her boot caught in one of those cursed cracks and her ankle twisted. The pain streaked up to her knee and she let out a cry, and instead of catching herself when she fell, as she had so trained herself to do, she reached for her leg.

It was to be her downfall.

Her foot became dislodged in an even more painful jerking as she landed on her hip, crushing her hand beneath her. Her cheek slammed against the stair, and reacting purely out of instinct, she pushed herself onto her back with her other hand, preparing to leap back to her feet. But there was no surface beneath her on which to balance. Her lips parted on a scream as first her head, then her torso, pitched over the crumbled side of the stair. The force of the jerking, of the free fall awaiting her, wrenched her ankle free, and she kicked her legs out in an act to gain her footing, her hands scrabbling to catch a bit of surface, but she only grappled air.

_I _am _to die here._

Until something grasped her around her throbbing ankle.

Nieriel cried out again, and gritted her teeth as she crashed into the side of the bridge, dangling upside-down. Dirt fell into her eyes, flames leapt from the deep bowels of the hollow beneath her, the balrog roared in the not-so-far-off distance, but above it all Nieriel thought she heard, "_Hang on lassie!_"

She bit down on the cry of both relief and agony that dared to breach her lips.

_Not the dwarf. Anyone but the dwarf._

She felt her body give a great heave before she was pulled back onto steady ground. She fell upon Gimli choking on the tepid air and lightheaded, but a quick, rapid succession of thumping upon her back had her vision steadying. Tremulously she came to her feet with the help of Frodo, her ankle and knee absolutely livid with pain. Her lungs were screaming, her back was throbbing, but indeed she did gaze through dirtied lashes and watering eyes as Gimli peered up at her.

"You all right there lassie? About took a tumble!"

"Keep moving!" Gandalf urged, and Nieriel was thankful for him in that moment.

_Not yet ready to thank a dwarf._

Boromir was the first to leap across the gaping maw of the bridge, and he sheathed his sword and opened his arms as he cried, "Jump! I will catch you!"

The hobbits shared looks of apprehension, but the room was getting hotter, the balrog's thundering bellow frighteningly closer.

"Move!" Nieriel said, and Legolas surged past her to grip a trembling Merry. With one swift movement, he had him tossed to Boromir, crying out in terror, but safe as he landed in his grasp. Pippin shortly followed, then Sam, and then Frodo, and Legolas turned to Gimli next.

Obdurately, the dwarf held up a bloodied hand. "No one tosses a dwarf." He backed up a few paces, growled low in his throat, and then leapt the distance with a roar of defiance. Boromir grabbed him by the front of his tunic and then thrust him behind him, beckoning Gimli to lead the rest of the way.

Legolas turned to face Nieriel, but she was already gone. _He will _not _be putting his hands on me. _With the grace of a deer she leapt the distance with ease, though her ankle ached in warning. She stumbled to her knees but played off the pain, hurdling to keep up with the fleeing hobbits who were coming ever closer to the door.

_It is not thirty more feet down. Just three more flights. Another short bridge. _Could they actually surmount this quandary?

As if to challenge her, a flare of orange flame and an earsplitting crash broke through the cavern. Nieriel jerked to a stop and looked up to see the balrog had burst through the door they had used, annihilating part of the stairs with the force of his rage. At least fifty feet tall, with legs like tree trunks and arms ripped like bands of steel, the demon was terrifying. Horns curled from the back of its head to cage its face, and wings of fire and shadow spread in abandon behind his monstrous visage. He carried a whip of fire in one hand and a fiery sword in the other, and he looked down on them then, half of the Fellowship crossed and the other still waiting, and tipped back his horned head in a mighty roar. The force of it crumpled parts of the ceiling, and the beast began to lumber after them, snarling with wrath.

The hobbits resumed their escape as the rest of the Fellowship made haste across the broken bridge. All of their efforts renewed, bordering on panic, they flew down one flight of stairs, and then another, and then a last, before a narrow, straight bridge sprawled before them. It led to the other side of the mountain, to a single hall, a short flight of stairs leading up, where blessedly Nieriel could see sunlight pouring in. _The East Door!_

Boromir crossed the bridge and the hobbits charged after him. Nieriel pushed herself to follow, but could not stop herself from watching as the balrog leapt from one trail of stair to another, crushing them all in his path. She reached the other side of the bridge and halted to watch the others cross, her gaze flickering between them and the balrog closing in on them.

"_Hurry!_" she cried, her fear so tight around her heart.

She watched as Gimli, Legolas, Aragorn, Elrohir, and then Elladan covered the bridge in less than a heartbeat. Gandalf brought up the rear, and it was with no small amount of relief that she realized that yes, they could indeed make it out alive. _Just a few more paces. Not ten stairs. _Already Boromir was leading the way up the steps, Sam and then Pippin behind him. Radiant sunlight beckoned her, and clean, divine air whispered, calling her closer. The scent of rain filtered in, the sharp odor of pines on the breeze. _Just a few more paces…_

"You cannot pass!"

Nieriel jolted. She swept around and her jaw slackened when she saw Gandalf standing with his back toward them, his staff and sword raised in challenge to Durin's Bane, who stood on the opposite side of the bridge giving off waves of heated fury.

_No!_

"Gandalf!" Strider bellowed, and Gandalf glanced over his shoulder at them, all staring at him as though he had lost his very mind.

"This foe is beyond any of you! Make for the door!" Gandalf yelled back, and when no one moved he said, "_Do as I say!_ Swords are of no use here!"

The balrog roared, snapping its whip in ire. Flames leapt, blinding Nieriel, and she stumbled back, though she was loath to move. She felt a hand wrap around her wrist then and she looked up at Elladan, who shared a look of utter dismay with her.

"We cannot leave him!" she implored, but still Elladan pulled her toward the stairs; she grappled with him weakly, knowing her fighting was futile.

"You cannot pass!" Gandalf shouted at the beast. "I am a servant of the Secret Fire, wielder of the flame of Anor! Therefore, the dark fire will not avail you, Flame of Udûn!"

Elladan began to pull her up the stairs, Strider following in her wake, but all of the sudden she felt a violent jostle. She looked down, and did not have enough time to stop Frodo as he darted past her, back down the stairs. Aragorn, however, grabbed his arm and pulled him to a stop, hauling him back against his chest and holding tight.

"_Gandalf!_" Frodo cried, and Nieriel felt her heart lurch at the forlorn sound.

Gandalf would not be swayed from this. He cried out to the balrog, "Go back to the shadow!"

The balrog swung his sword. Nieriel cried out, but still Elladan pulled her further away. Aragorn grappled with Frodo as the hobbit fought to make his way to the wizard, who parried the blow from the balrog with great struggle. He thrust his staff at the creature, wielding a great white light which temporarily blinded it, causing the creature to stumble back. The balrog howled with rage, but Gandalf would not be deterred. He raised his sword and staff, summoning the last of his power, his strength, and bellowed, "_You shall not pass!_"

He brought his staff down upon the bridge with a thunderous crack. The balrog lurched into an attack, but the bridge crumpled beneath him, taking the creature with it. Gandalf swept back from the destruction on unsteady feet, his shoulders heaving with his breaths as he watched the balrog tilt, and then tumble with the bridge.

_Yes!_

Nieriel's face lit up with a smile, so grand and so radiant, and she parted her lips to call for Gandalf to hurry. The wizard turned, so slowly to face them, and he appeared exhausted, but beyond relieved. First one step, and then another, and he was almost away from the shattered edge of the bridge when a high-pitched whistle sliced the air.

Nieriel's grin dropped like a dead fly. The whip borne by the balrog snapped up over the ledge and wrapped around Gandalf's knees, pulling him to slam into the ground, sending his staff askew.

"_Gandalf!_" Frodo screamed, just as Nieriel let out a cry in terror.

The beast, in one last act of rage as it fell, pulled Gandalf to the edge, but the wizard managed to grapple at a crooked outcropping of jagged stones to still his fall. His sword wavered in one hand but his staff, his most greatest resource, lay out of reach. His face was covered in dirt and sweat, blood trickled from one temple, and his hair was a tangled mass about his quivering head. He looked so tired, so absolutely _defeated. _The creature's weapon no longer had him in its grasp, but Gandalf faltered, his hands slipping over the stones.

He met her gaze then, his blue eyes swathed in pain. He darted his eyes to Aragorn, and his voice was cracked, strained as he said, "Fly you fools!"

And then he let go.


	13. Chapter 13: Hollow

**Chapter Thirteen: Hollow**

Frodo's bellow of pain still resounded in her ears, even as Nieriel fell to her knees in the waning light of the afternoon, free of the confines and perils of Moria. She collapsed onto her backside, eyes wide, stark, as she gazed over the rocky hillside of Dimrill Dale with unseeing eyes. Pain, like a knife so sharp, sliced through the flesh of her chest, the layers of muscle and tissue and bone, to lacerate her heart and flood her throat thick with sorrow. She caught herself as she fell to the side on a shaking arm, closing her eyes so tight that it stung. _No. Gandalf… _Yet against her straining lids she saw Gandalf holding onto the edge of the bridge with such anguish in his eyes that it burned her, stealing the very breath from her chest. Agony, so cloying and suffocating, gripped the fragments of her sanity, threatening to spill her over the darkened edge of hysteria.

_This cannot be real. _The thought circulated in her mind, a death knell of its own.

_Gandalf… Cannot be… _She felt her heart squeeze, shudder, wail its distress with thunderously aching beats.

_Dead._

Her limbs shook. The adrenaline began to wane, and the damage she had sustained during the battle began to throb all at once. Coupled with the sorrow, it was crippling.

_Get up, _her conscience told her, so loudly it resonated within her skull. _You must get up. You cannot sit here forever._

She raised her eyes slowly to those around her. Pippin lay on the ground, sobbing his dear little heart out, with Merry sitting next to him, a comforting hand on his shoulder though tears streaked down his own dirtied face. Frodo and Sam sat side-by-side, Sam hiding his face with quivering hands, his shoulders shaking as he wept, while Frodo stared off into nothingness, his eyes void of anything but bleak despair. Gimli sat on a rock with a hand to his forehead, while Boromir stared back at Moria as if in the throes of shock, as pale as death. Elladan and Elrohir were sharing looks of muted disbelief while Strider grimly gazed at the mountainside, Legolas standing near.

"Legolas get them up."

Nieriel whipped her gaze to Aragorn and watched as he sheathed his sword, his eyes on the slowly setting sun over the mountains they had just traversed, before his eyes flickered to the rocky crags and skeletal forest that awaited them. "We need to get moving."

"Give them a moment for pity's sake!" Boromir exclaimed, his own voice breaking. Nieriel looked at him then, and though his tone suggested contempt he looked weary, his face deep with lines of grief.

_For once you and I agree, Son of the Steward._

"By nightfall these hills will be crawling with orcs! Think you our traipsing will go unnoticed? We will be lucky if Saruman himself does not come crashing down on these lands." Aragorn's tone brokered no argument, and Nieriel suddenly hated him for it.

_Does he feel no pity, no sadness of his own? How can he stand there and watch them weep, yet demand them action? They have nothing left in them. Nothing but blackness._

_To stay here is to die, _her conscience said louder, surging her veins with fire. _You are not to die here._

Nieriel closed her eyes once more. She felt no pull to move. Her sorrow was encapsulating everything, draining her to complete and utter waste.

_Gandalf… _How could he be gone? At once she began to recall his trips to Rivendell, how with each and every one he brought Arwen sweet buns from Hobbiton, yet he would wink at her when he delivered them, knowing she would steal one for a midnight snack when everyone else was abed. How she had cherished his wise counsel, for he always knew exactly what to say and when to say it! She recollected their debates, of kings and queens and their politics, how they would discuss books and battles and villains. How they would sip wine and play chess well into the night. And goodness, but his deep, rumbling laugh always brought her joy, warming the center of her soul no matter how dark she had been feeling! And how could she forget his whiz-poppers? Those silly little fireworks that she so secretly enjoyed.

_How could one such as he perish so easily?_ The Grey Wizard, around for millennia, as striking a foe as any warrior, to be felled so _simply_. The crack of the whip ricocheted through her, and with blinding clarity Nieriel watched the scene play again in her mind…

…Until she heard a desperate choke of grief. She brought her lagging head up, pushing her eyes open by sheer force of will as the sound echoed over the rocks and then rang again, reverberating throughout the small valley as if there were a thousand voices. Yet it was just one, a single, lonely voice, so desolate, so forlorn, and it came from Gimli. His shoulders were shaking, his head hanging so low that his beard touched the ground, while he wept. Though he tried to muffle the sounds with a meaty fist he could not, and his sobs came out wretched and barking, each one a sharp stab of pain to her own heart.

_He has lost so much, _Nieriel thought, and immediately felt guilty for her own selfishness. Yes, she had lost Gandalf, but Gimli had lost his family, his very kin. She knew how that felt; it was a hollowness that never went away. There were always subtle reminders that the lost one existed in memory but never would again in the flesh. His raw anguish was something she was akin with, for it was what she felt when she thought of her own family.

However, yes, she had lost her family, but she had never known them, could not remember them no matter how hard she tried. Gimli had known the warmth and comfort, the joys and closeness of his family, had memories that would haunt him for the rest of his days. His family had been taken from him. Ripped from his hands long before they ever should have been.

She knew then that Gimli's pain was greater than hers ever would be.

_We must be strong for him now. _She looked to the hobbits, taking deep, slow breaths to garner strength, ignoring her body's screams of pain. _We must be strong for them all. When they cannot be._

Pushing aside the torment that threatened to completely eviscerate her, Nieriel pulled herself onto shaking feet, her ankle protesting angrily, her knee nearly buckling. _I may agree with you Boromir, but I agree with Aragorn more._

Over uneven stones she walked to him, asking in a low voice, "Where do we go from here?"

Aragorn noticed her limp and his grim features dissolved into severe displeasure. "You are hurt."

Nieriel ignored him, instead said, "If we follow the Celebrant, which feeds from Mirrormere, it will lead us to Lothlórien. It will be no more than half a day's journey."

Nieriel heard a scraping of a boot behind her, felt the barest hint of warmth at her back. She looked up, her spine tingling, and saw Elladan standing beside her. _Was that his touch so light on me?_

"We can seek shelter under Galadriel and Celeborn there." Elladan said in a voice that he tried to keep hard, yet broke slightly towards the end. Nieriel felt compelled to reach out to him, but kept her hands to herself; she did not trust the appendages to be steady.

Aragorn nodded once. "That is the way then."

"We will scout ahead to make sure the way is clear." Elrohir said, his hard grey eyes meeting Aragorn's. "But do not linger much longer. They will come."

"We will revive at the lake and then be on our way." Nieriel said, putting an end to the conversation.

_Though it will be slow going. We have no horses. _Nieriel fought back a snarl of distress and took quick stock of her belongings, pushing away her sadness with fierce determination: one pack, hopefully the one with her clothes, and her blades, all of them. How she managed to hold onto the cumbersome saddlebag, she did not know, did not matter. _We have to get moving._

Looking down upon herself, she found her boots were bloodied, scuffed, her clothes nearly destroyed. Her leathers were splattered and spliced, her hair a limp, tangled mess. The sun hurt her eyes after so many days of being underground, and being out in the fresh air now made her realize how horrible she smelled.

_A quick dip would do me well, _she thought, turning to move away. With the adrenaline no longer pumping through her like lifeblood she realized how desperately she hurt, the throb turning into a bone-ache. With a deep breath she realized she indeed had broken a few ribs, and she knew by the way they pulsated, hot and angry, that her ankle and knee were swollen. She could feel every single cut along her flesh burning with ire, and already the bruises began to bloom along her hands, knew by the way it ached that they spread along the planes of her face as well.

_Be strong for them_. She could not let the others know of her pain and forced herself to move, though the pressure she experimented on her swollen joints caused her to ache so deeply that she cringed and faltered. A steady hand grasped her elbow and righted her, and she looked up warily to meet Elladan's heavily worried gaze.

"To be saved by a dwarf…" His tone was teasing and he attempted a smirk, but it fell flat, and the hard lines of his pained expression returned. His deep baritone was tremulous, and Nieriel noted his eyes shimmered slightly.

Her chest tightened. She thought he would let her go to move away after righting her, however his grip on her did not loosen, instead shifted to a tighter one as he moved as if to embrace her, but did not. She felt a quiver steal her spine, and tipped her head back to peer up at him fully with eyes bleeding the anguish she dare not share. She suddenly did not understand the rush of emotion that came from looking into his eyes; so many wordless things passed between them, so many emotions, that they remained speechless, merely staring at one another.

His voice was brittle as he rasped, "And now you are hurt."

"It is nothing but an annoyance," she said assuredly, though softly, as much to convince herself as him.

She severed the contact they so intimately shared with a flickering look away, displacing the emotions and the unspoken words. The tenderness of their encounter unsettled her, made her vastly uncomfortable, and she rapidly felt like she was suffocating.

She shook her head. Forcefully. At the exact moment she said, "I will be fine," her knee throbbed and she could not contain a grimace, telling her that, indeed, she would not.

"I know you will." Elladan said softly, his long hair swaying gently in the breeze, brushing her shoulder and face. "But you almost fell."

The memory would be another to haunt her for many years to come. "But I did not."

Elladan drew his bloodied hand up to trail quaking fingers over her cheek, so light she almost did not feel them. Her eyelids fluttered and her heart slowed, and she almost turned her cheek into the warmth of his touch, to the comfort he offered. She took a steadying breath and allowed herself to close her eyes for just a moment, to revel in the twinkling lapse of time, of the peace and security it gave her.

_I am safe. I am alive. I will continue on._

She would not admit to herself how truly scared she had been.

Her eyes flickered open and she met Elladan's gaze once more, and she turned her cheek from his grasp. He dropped his hand and the fleeting moment they had shared dissipated.

"I am sorry for my coarse words all those days ago," she said, for she was now reminded that life itself could be so fleeting and she should not be so cruel to one she so treasured. _Gods, Gandalf… _"I should not have spoken to you like I did."

Elladan smiled then, though the gesture did not quite reach his eyes. He looked worse off than she did, bleeding from a cut on his cheek, sporting a fat lip and a black eye. His long, brown hair was matted with blood, his clothing streaked with it. He looked exhausted, and his ever-expressive eyes were dim. "You are fierce of heart, Nee. I do not hold that against you."

Her conscience soothed, Nieriel nodded once. She turned to move away, but his voice halted her one last time.

"I know it is not like you to admit when you need help or when you are hurt, so I do not expect you to now. I only ask that you take care on the rest of the journey; you need rest and I know you will push yourself."

Nieriel pursed her lips together to stop the sharp rebuke she would utter out of irritation. _I will be fine. _She continued her pace to Mirrormere, resting in Dimrill Dale before her, all the while never knowing that Elladan followed her every movement with eyes that never once wavered.

* * *

Legolas laid a hand upon Sam's shoulder, silently bidding him to stand. The hobbit looked up at him, his face dried of tears yet his eyes still full of torment, and Legolas's heart went out to him; he knew what he felt. Losing someone left voiceless anguish to resound within the soul, without a way out, singing the blackest, most haunting song to follow you through the rest of eternity. Still, they had only a short amount of time before the sun would set, and Legolas knew that these lands would indeed be crawling with orcs within the hour.

He stood slowly, surveying Dimrill Dale. The glowing orange of the setting sun bathed the valley in amber, the pure, perfect beauty an antithesis of the horror they had just overcome. The white, rocky crags gleamed radiantly in the sunlight and the lake Mirrormere held steady and still below its stance on a rock outcropping, reflecting a perfect visage of the mountain they had just traversed. The Celebrant River snaked out east beyond, leading the way they would take to Lórien. The grass was just as green as if it were summer though the trees were bare, were now motionless in the twilight. It was a serene sight, and the sadness of Legolas's heart alleviated but slightly knowing he had peace for a short time now that they were past the danger of Durin's Bane.

_But at the price of one so dear, _he thought, and the cloying fist of sadness tightened around his heart once more.

There was a movement down by the lake and Legolas's gaze flickered to the fifty or so paces there, and his breath caught. Nieriel stepped out from behind Durin's Stone, shaking out her long mane of hair and dressed in fresh clothing, these in hues of green and brown. She had cleaned and was now barefoot as she crouched by the lake to wash out her beaten and bloodied wares. Her weapons had been cast aside, lying in a heap by the water's edge, and he thought she looked much more harmless now, her aggression and weapons forgotten for a slip of time.

The light of the dying sun danced along her shoulders, highlighting her pale features, her now softened countenance. It picked up the different hues of her hair, flashing the tendrils auburn, burnished bronze, and a rich, envious ebony. The mane suddenly slipped from her back to dangle over a single shoulder and Legolas abruptly wished he was nearer her, to touch the thick coils to discern if they were as soft as they now looked. He watched as she set aside her things as if annoyed and quickly braided her hair, tying it with the same, worn ribbon she always used. He watched her quick movements, honed by years of practice, taking in the slopes of her body, how the grief of the day shaped the lines of her face when she thought no one was watching. His feet were suddenly moving, drawing him nearer her without him fully realizing he was drawn to her presence. She looked so unforgivably sad, her stern mien forgotten, and he felt his heart quicken, wanting desperately to reach out to her.

_Though Elladan already had. _Legolas thought, tension coiling around his spine in an angry clench. For some reason the son of Elrond had all but deemed him aloud an enemy and for that reason alone Legolas loved nothing more than to rankle him, yet at the same time he felt a sort of revulsion toward the male, one he could not explain.

_He comforted her, laid his hand upon her cheek._

_ Could there be something between them? Is she so aloof towards me because she belongs to another? That look they had shared…_

His pace intensified until he was nigh upon her. Nieriel, having heard his approach, rose unsteadily to her feet, and Legolas noticed she favored her left leg. He remembered the fear that had grappled at him when she stumbled, the stark terror he felt as he had called out her name and watched her fall.

"Will you be all right?" he asked, glancing down at her leg. Her ankle was swollen, red, and he noticed she did not put her full weight on the joint.

"I will be healed within a few hours." she said, her voice sounding so weary. "Though I seemed to have lost my other pack, the one that had my supplies in it. I had hoped to wrap it."

Legolas smiled, and her puzzled expression drew into a frown. "What?"

He slung her pack from his shoulder, watching as her eyes flared and then met his own. His smile did not waver, in fact drew into a grin, delighted by her breathless tone when she asked, "Where did you find that?"

"You dropped it in the Mines, before the fight." he replied, and her expression softened into one of gratitude as she reached for it. "I told you, you should have let me carry it."

Her lips twitched, hinting at a smile. Legolas felt his heart miss a beat. _What I would not give…_

"Thank you." she told him genuinely, and he let the pack fall into her hands. However she did not turn from him or dismiss him like he so expected her to; instead, their gazes remained intertwined.

The sun haloed her head from behind, turning her hair a lighter brown than her usual dark sable. He wished she had not pulled it back so suddenly, for he would like to see it loose and free about her shoulders, _for some damnable reason_. Her skin, so newly scrubbed clean, was rosy, and her green eyes glimmered brighter than the blades of grass in the valley, further adding to her cherubic appearance; she almost did not look like herself. Although she was tired, strained, she did not hold her usual disdain for him, and Legolas reveled in this moment with her. _She is stunning in a way that I did not think existed._

And for some reason, his conscience urged him to ruin it.

"You are close with Elladan?"

Her green eyes darted away and she turned to resume her task. Her leathers were laid out on the shore, already near dry, and her boots had been scrubbed clean. She picked up her tunic and knelt by the edge of the lake, giving him her back as she said, "Yes, he and Elrohir. They are like brothers to me."

_Brothers. _His chest tightened and he almost lifted a hand to rub his sternum. He looked down at the appendage as if it had just sprouted, a frown on his face. He then suddenly realized how absolutely filthy he was, his eyes trailing from his hand, to his arm, flickering over his boots and his own tunic. _She must think me hideous, _he thought, and why that suddenly bothered him, Legolas did not know.

He slung his bow and quiver from his back and then began to remove his leather gauntlets and breastplate. He knelt at the lake next to her, and she jerked her gaze to him with flaring eyes as he began to scrub his hands, and then moved to splash water onto his face.

"Younger brothers, if I am to presume?" Legolas asked, running a sleeve over his eyes. _Younger, pestering brothers, whom you liken to trolls?_

"Again you mock my age," Nieriel said, rising as she rung out her tunic.

Legolas inwardly winced, thinking that was not his meaning at all and wanted to tell her that, though he became momentarily awed from watching her languid movements. She moved with the grace of a sprite, so lithe and nimble, her slender fingers twining, her lean body so sinuous.

"It was not my intention to mock your age," Legolas said quickly, dropping his leathers to the shore as he stood as well. "I merely was remarking on your closeness. If they are younger they must be a nuisance, like most little brothers are."

Nieriel arched a brow, sitting on a rock as she delved into her satchel, procuring a roll of linen used for bandaging. "We are close, yes. We have a healthy rivalry between us, and most days they are quite the irritants, but there is no others I would rather have at my back. We have been at each other's sides for decades without fault. And they understand me better than anyone."

At her brow Legolas realized how silly he looked, staring at her when he had moved to clean his own clothing, and returned to the task. He began to wash off his leathers as her words played in his mind. _How close is close? They understand her how? Could I come to understand her such as they? Would I be so appreciated?_

_ Why, all the sudden, does any of this matter?_

Shamed into silence by his own discontent, Legolas did not turn around until he heard her stand. He found her redressed, her boots on her feet, and strapping her weapons into place.

Unabashedly he watched her move, her actions like second nature, and he was captivated by her again. She was such a formidable female, a strong, independent, self-assured being. Her wall of staunch defense was one he liked to test and her strong countenance he so enjoyed breaking, for reasons he did not quite understand. She was an enigma he was slowly, ever so slowly solving, and the more he got to know her, the more he wanted to know, every facet every crevice of her being. She was not one to tarry over looks, wallow at a bit of blood. She could hold her own against a foe, ten foes, and had a sardonic attitude as thick as a stone wall which endeared her to him all the more. She was so unlike the females he had known, did not simper or flirt shamelessly, and by the gods it was so refreshing. She was a _challenge, _yet she soothed his soul in ways that he did not comprehend, did not care to comprehend; all that mattered was that she did.

_Am I alone in my thoughts? Are her and Elladan more than meets the eye?_

"We will be leaving soon. I will go and ready the hobbits; take the time you need." Nieriel said to him, and a frown suddenly eclipsed her features. If he had not been watching her so closely he would have missed the slight shake of her head before she turned from him and made her way back up the rocks toward the others.

He could not help it; he watched her go like a man starved for water watching an oasis blossom in the distance. If he had not known she was injured he would not be able to tell, so sure and nimble she moved. Her swaying braid brought his avaricious eyes to her swishing hips, before dipping lower still to her derriere. Her legs, so toned and slim, mesmerized him, before he perceived her slowing and he jerked his gaze back up. He thought maybe she moved to look over her shoulder at one point but thought the better of it, and instead quickened her pace once more.

He grinned then, before he yanked his own tunic over his head and quickly washed it. He wrung it out best he could before swapping it out for a clean one, and then packed his old one away. In less than five minutes he was making his way back up to the rest of the group, passing Boromir, Gimli, and Aragorn as they trudged toward the lake. While they washed he and Nieriel readied the hobbits, the cloud of despair once thick now dissipating in their need for survival.

* * *

Under the cover of dusk the Fellowship and their companion had traversed Naith, and it was well into night when the woods of Lórien began to loom in the distance. Nieriel felt an immeasurable amount of relief release from her shoulders knowing that Galadriel and Celeborn were so close. _They will protect us, see us from any evils, _she thought as they quickened across the tall, grassy field and the trees grew taller, darker in their night stance. The sky boasted a waxing crescent moon this night and the stars that shone above were bright, twinkling down at them, lending them courage and hope.

_Hopefully you are up there Gandalf, watching over us, _Nieriel thought, as the scent of mellyrn trees danced on the breeze down to her. With their grey trunks speckled with bits of ivory bark and branches boasting golden leaves, their scent was pleasing, like fresh turned earth and a hint of spice. Nieriel had loved playing in the leaves as they fell in the spring when she had been a child, and even now she basked in their serenity, awash in memory, as she sprinted into the forest behind Sam. Elladan and Elrohir had not returned from their scouting, had most likely reached Lothlórien and stayed to prepare for their arrival knowing that the rest of the Fellowship was in more than capable hands.

Their pace slowed from a run to a jog, from a jog to a walk, and before long they had all caught their breath, though it puffed out before them in cool, swirling tendrils.

"We have made it under the cover of the forest," Aragorn said, and he was the first to stop. He dropped his own pack to the ground and turned to face the rest of them. "Let us rest for a while."

Nieriel felt her shoulders relax, could not stop her eyes from closing at the blessed sound of those words. She was utterly exhausted and her ankle and knee had begun to hurt more and more with each passing step. She could barely rest on the joints now, but would force herself to take first watch as she always did.

_I cannot stand this sadness anymore. _The dark, gaping hollow of sorrow that radiated from the hobbits in asphyxiating waves threatened to swallow her. They could barely hold themselves upright now that their flight had ended, and their faces were long and drawn, and Pippin had yet to stop sniveling. They had not spoken to each other or anyone else since they had left Moria so abruptly, and Nieriel knew they were distressed by the fact that they had not the proper time to mourn their lost friend. Yet she could not bring herself to be annoyed by their aching, for it was one that unsettled her as well. Where she chose to hide hers beneath anger and determination, these hobbits were not so strong of will as her. She would not hold that against them. _They do not belong here, these gentle creatures._

She paused then and looked over them slowly, one by one. They collapsed to the ground in their own fatigue, falling into one another for comfort and support. They could not make a fire so they bundled close, wordlessly sharing their cloaks and canteens, and Nieriel secretly envied them their respite, their nearness to one another.

_I am out here alone, with barely any for company—_

She felt a hand on her shoulder then, a light touch that did not startle her. In fact it soothed her, calmed the sadness that flowed through her without an outlet, slowed the steady drumming of her heart. She turned and found Legolas there, and his gentle smile softened her heart, alieved it of its aching for but a moment.

He had dropped his hand, but his eyes flickered from her to the tree she had been about to ascend. Wordlessly he brushed past her, his lips still upturned in a smile, and Nieriel turned to watch as he began to climb the tree with no more than a glance back at her.

"In case you have not figured it out," he called down to her, disappearing among the golden leaves and shadows of the forest. "I will be taking first watch."

Her lips twitched and then widened into a smile, before she dipped her head in acquiescence. She would not fight him this, for she knew he did this solely for her.

_Perhaps I am not as alone as I like to keep thinking._

Night was lightening to dawn around them when the Fellowship started their trek again after a few hours of rest, and the light of the moon and the stars above began to fade, causing the trees around them to lose their iridescent night glow. There was no wind to rustle the leaves and all creatures were still abed from the eve before, yet the song of a few birds could be heard riding the echoes of the forest. The air was cold, biting, and while Nieriel took peace and comfort in the nature that surrounded her Gimli looked around uneasily, his brown eyes darting wildly.

"Stay close young hobbits. They say a sorceress lives in these woods, an elf-witch of terrible power," he intoned, his lilt thick.

Nieriel just contained a snort. _Galadriel will not be happy to hear she was called a witch. _But to add wood to the fire she said, "It is said that all who look upon her fall under her spell."

Aragorn shot her an absurd look of disgruntled disbelief, but before he could intervene Pippin asked, "What kind of spell?"

"A spell of _doom_." Nieriel said ominously, lowering her voice quite theatrically. Legolas snickered while Aragorn shook his head.

"Tis true!" Gimli said, his whisper urgent. "It is said if you embark unto these woods with ill intent you are never seen again!"

Nieriel watched as Pippin's eyes widened to the size of saucers and Merry shuddered. Sam gulped thickly and Frodo rubbed his chest, a frown upon his brow. Nieriel's gaze lingered on him and she suddenly felt guilty, jibing them as such. Gandalf was newly lost to them, and the burden Frodo carried was so heavy… She opened her mouth to apologize and refute Gimli's words, but of course his boisterous voice broke the silence.

"Well here is one dwarf she will not ensnare so easily! I have the eyes of a hawk and the ears of a fox!"

Nieriel perceived a movement a split second before an arrow appeared directly to her right, not yet unleashed from its counterpart. The Fellowship halted directly where they stood as arrows notched to bows appeared before every one of them, held taut by the sure hands of the Woodland Guard.

"The dwarf breathes so loud we could have shot him in the dark."

Haldir, the captain of the wards who guarded the forests of Lothlórien, sauntered into view, his burgundy cloak billowing behind him. Nieriel could not suppress a grin at his words burnished with his acidic tone as he gazed at Gimli with scathing blue eyes. His silver armor and platinum hair glinted in the dim light of the sun, his proud, aquiline features unwavering as he examined the trespassers in his lands. His brothers Rumil and Orophin appeared behind him holding bows as well, and their stark gazes flickered over those of the Fellowship with distrust, their features so like their brother's.

It was not until Haldir's, and then Rumil's and Orophin's eyes landed on Nieriel that they smiled, Haldir the widest of all with a slow twisting of his lips, his once stern countenance melting into one of warm familiarity.

"Ah Nieriel. To what do I owe the pleasure?" Haldir asked in Elvish.

She replied in kind, "We come seeking shelter from Galadriel and Celeborn. I trust Elladan and Elrohir have made it safely and have informed you of such?"

Haldir inclined his head. "They arrived sometime in the night. They gave a terse explanation of your journey thus far, but nothing more." He raised his brow at her, glancing at her cohorts; mainly Gimli and the hobbits. "These are your friends?"

Nieriel felt resentment cling to her, but her conscience was quick to remind her that Gimli had saved her life not once but _twice_ so far. _I would have been Watcher fare if not for him. Or met a very untimely demise in the bottom of a fiery chasm. But friends?_

"They are my companions."

Haldir sighed. "Very well." He motioned to his brothers with a quick flick of his wrist, saying in Westron, "Take them to the Mistress of Magic."

Orophin and Rumil brushed past Haldir, sending Nieriel nods of acknowledgement, before they procured a blindfold and approached Gimli. The dwarf began to blubber in his anger, stumbling over his booted feet to get away from the brothers.

"Wh-what is this? This nonsense? I will not be treated like some beast!"

The brothers stilled and turned to their eldest, and Haldir's low, threatening tone stilled Gimli's madness.

"You have entered the realm of the Lady of the Wood. There is no going back. You will do as ordered of you or we will force you. Notice the arrows pointed in your direction." Haldir gestured to said arrows, and Gimli growled.

Nieriel knew the blindfold was necessary; Gimli was still a dwarf, the enemy of the Elves, and could not be made privy to their exact location. But truly, would Gimli lead a troop of dwarves down from the mountains in a siege? He would be smote to ruin with a single bat of a lash from Galadriel! In any case, Nieriel crossed her arms and watched with no small amount of amusement as he was blindfolded and his hands were tied behind his back.

That is, until Aragorn's voice broke the wintry air.

"If he should be covered, then so should we all."

Nieriel started, turning wide eyes to Aragorn as she dropped fisted hands to her sides. He nodded at Gimli, and then to Rumil, and at Haldir's careless shrug the younger elf moved to do as Aragorn bid. The hobbits, Aragorn, and Boromir stood tall and accepted their fate with their shoulders thrown back, proud and steadfast next to their friend, however when Orophin approached Nieriel dangling a thin strip of black linen, she raised a brow in warning.

She said in Elvish, "You will not be blindfolding me, _telellë._"

She caught the flash of Legolas's bewilderment as Orophin smiled slightly, yet stepped away without shielding her eyes. Legolas opened his mouth to protest at the same moment Rumil stepped up behind him with his blindfold, and in the heartbeat before his eyes were covered Nieriel grinned and stuck out her tongue.

* * *

_telellë: _little elf


	14. Chapter 14: Vacillation

**Chapter Fourteen: Vacillation**

Dawn had turned to fresh morning when the Fellowship reached Caras Galadhon, the capital of Lórien. The motley crew of wanderers were being led down a narrow fosse surrounded by mellyrn trees interspersed with oaks, birches, ash, and maples, while the morning light played goldenly through the naked brambles and branches, amongst the falling leaves. The quiet yet splendorous city lay in the core of the forest, and it began to glow as the chilled morning light rose higher, and those within the homes began to stir.

The lodgings were carved within the hearts of the trees or built on sturdy branches, their roofs made from gentle rinds of wood. They were perched at an array of different levels, ranging in size but built in the same manner, circular in shape with small, round windows and tall, arching doors. The rough bark on the outside had been hewn to be smooth, each home a different color, with different etchings of welcome above their doors. In the mecca was the dwelling of Galadriel and Celeborn and their own retinue, housed in the largest tree in the forest. The city stretched for miles, had been home to the Silvan Elves for ages past and would be until the last of them departed from this world. The lull of the Celebrant and Anduin rivers could be heard on the air, their gentle tinkling like crystal, and mixed with the song of the birds it almost reminded Nieriel of home.

_I will be there soon, _she thought suddenly, though that thought faded to the back of her mind as she took in the sights around her. Lórien never failed to awe her and that notion held true now as Nieriel basked in its magnificence with adoration shining in her eyes. She recalled how deeply she loved to explore the forest and all its crevices, from the canopy up top to the earth down below and had done so relentlessly with Arwen when they had been younger. She knew there were caves that glimmered grey and silver in the north, and that if you trekked far enough inside there was a special font that fed a pool surrounded by stalagmites while stalactites hovered overhead. She knew the Celebrant and the Anduin met in an emerald valley to the south, and that more than once in her youth she had traipsed through the waters, dirtying her breeches as she slipped over the smooth sediment on the bottom. She knew there were rollicking hills to the east where it was perfect to watch the sun rise. And she knew there was nothing like watching night creep over the mountains from the top of the waterfalls of the Nimrodel River in the west.

The fosse suddenly widened until it emptied into a clearing, leading the Fellowship into the heart of the realm which lay upon a large, green hill in the deep of the golden forest. The widest, oldest tree, taller than Nieriel could fathom and wider than any home she had ever seen stood proud before a dais upon which the sun shone brightly through a small clearing in the canopy above, bathing those that awaited them in white, radiant light.

Nieirel was the first to drop to her knee as the Fellowship was relieved of their blindfolds, and they quickly followed once they realized whose presence they were so suddenly in.

"Welcome to the Hidden Land, those of the Fellowship and its steady companions," Galadriel began, her voice melodically soothing, like chimes that swayed in the wind. "Please, rise and face me now."

Nieriel stood, and it was with eyes full of relief and adoration that she met the gaze of Galadriel. Her adopted grandmother looked as ethereal as she always did: her pearlescent gown clung to her tall, slender frame, the sleeves flaring deep and wide and hiding her clasped hands. The hem of the gown touched the ground, hiding her bare feet, and the neckline was rounded, perched daintily on slim shoulders to reveal delicate bone structure. The cuffs, hem, and bodice of the gown were laced with fine slivers of silver in an intricate embellishment of leaves and vines. Her hair lay in shining rivulets of golden over her bosom to tickle her trim waist, and her face did not bear an age any greater than Nieriel's own, and boasted the same gentle bone structure as the rest of her body. Her stunning blue eyes, so full of wisdom and mirth, twinkled as she smiled at Nieriel, before her curiosity took her and she perused the rest of the Fellowship with a muted fascination.

Celeborn stood the dark antithesis of his mate, his robes a deep hue of green and his countenance stern. His platinum hair draped becomingly over his shoulders, so long and straight it touched his waist, and his golden eyes flickered from one body to another without intrigue. He clasped his hands tightly before him, and when his eyes landed upon Nieriel he but raised a single brow, and she bowed her head ever so slightly to show respect. She knew Celeborn was more bark than bite; he only looked so cruel, when in fact he was gentle and kind, as benevolent as his mysterious wife.

Nieriel could feel Sam shiver from where she stood next to him as Celeborn scanned him next, his lips thin and his face filled with displeasure. She did not know what ailed her in that moment, but she lifted a hand and rested it upon Sams's shoulder, squeezing for comfort.

Celeborn's voice rang out clear and strong: "Tell me, where is Gandalf, for I much desire to speak with him."

No one deigned to answer, the hurt still fresh. Nieriel herself found the words hard to come by; such a sadness she had never known enveloped her. She wanted to open her mouth, to respond to Celeborn, but her throat burned and instead she turned her eyes to the ground.

"He has fallen into shadow."

Lifting her head slightly as the words speared her through her chest, Nieriel watched as Galadriel tipped her head slightly, her piercing eyes so soft now as she gazed at Frodo.

_How could I have forgotten she has the gift of insight? _Nieriel thought, as Frodo startled slightly. _She well knows what has happened._

Her gaze trickled to Boromir, and then swayed to Aragorn as she said, "The quest stands upon the edge of a knife. Stray but a little and it will fail, to the ruin of all. Yet hope remains while the company is true."

Nieriel's own eyes first tracked to Strider, who looked as stoic as he always did anymore, and then to Boromir. He had paled, and if Nieriel perceived correctly he seemed to tremble under the onslaught of Galadriel's gaze.

If there were to be one to tip the knife, she well knew it would be he.

_But I will not be here to find that out. I am going home._

The thought did not bring her solace, as it so readily had in the weeks leading up to the truth of the statement. _I am going home, to Arwen, _she told herself again, yet the comfort she usually felt was not forthcoming. In fact, something felt _wrong. _She frowned and turned her eyes to the ground as a niggling feeling of unrest settled in the center of her chest.

"Do not let your hearts be troubled; there is nothing that can be done anymore. He is gone. Go now and rest, for you are weary with sorrow and much toil." Galadriel bowed her head slightly, sweeping her arms wide in a show of welcome. A breeze took the trees then, rustling the leaves, stirring the air, and Nieriel noticed that Galadriel had her eyes locked on Frodo, her lips upturned ever so slightly.

_Poor Frodo, _Nieriel thought with a pitiful smile as attendants approached them, to offer to show them to rest, shelter, and food. _I remember the first time Galadriel spoke in my mind; it took me a while to recover, as I'm sure it will with he._

* * *

The Fellowship passed the day in silence and solitude, healing from the harrowing bouts they had overcome to reach Lórien. They had all been seen to separate rooms, offered baths and a change of clothes, as well as the ever-reaching hospitality of the Elves of Lothlórien. Nieriel slept most of the day away; the afternoon light faded into twilight, twilight faded into dusk, and with the cover of night the Elves began a haunting lament for Gandalf, one that woke her from her tomb-like slumber.

After freshening and now dressed in a plain gown of grey-blue, Nieriel found herself sitting upon her private balcony in the room she usually was given when visiting, listening to the sorrowful song well after the time for supper had come and gone.

A knock sounded from within her room and Nieriel called, "Come in," from her place in the wooden chair that overlooked the city. The dwellings were lit by the crescent moon and the stars above, yet the homes within were dark save a single candle in each doorway, illuminating the etchings and arches. Each single taper, a somber grey in color, glowed white and pure in memory of the soul that had been lost in the dark caves of Moria against the mighty balrog, the flame swaying gently with the lament that carried morbidly on the wind.

"You appear rested." Elladan said, taking the seat next to her. He was dressed in a silver tunic and black breeches, looking clean but for a few minor scrapes, and well-rested himself. He carried a plate of covered food, which he uncovered with relish while saying, "I come bearing gifts."

"Thank you. I have not yet eaten." Nieriel replied, taking her eyes from the sparkling city spread out before her to smile softly at Elladan.

A silence feel between them then, and Nieriel reached for a small handful of nuts, her thoughts turned toward Lórien. Housed in the hollowed tree where Galadriel and Celeborn dwelled were Nieriel's rooms, as well as those of the Fellowship, and the towering structure served as the stronghold of Lórien. It was where celebrations and discussions were held, where ambassadors and prisoners were kept, held a fire-hot kitchen larger than the one at Rivendell and a marvelous throne room that stretched the length of the tree and opened up to the sky. At the base of the tree was the dais, facing the fosse to greet any that made their way to the city, with sprawling gardens, grottos, and small waterfalls on all the other sides.

The center of the forest was a place that was forever green, chiming with birds, crawling with small woodland creatures, and flittering with butterflies. It was always pleasant no matter that of the season, the blooms that grew splendid and never wilting. The scent of the mellyrn trees was abundant, mingled with the crisp earthly smells of the others, so soothing and fresh. The gardens had become a place that Nieriel would go to if she found she could not sleep while she was away from home, if her nightmares became too much. She had a feeling she would find herself there tonight.

"I know; you were not at supper which caused me to worry." Elladan said, earning himself a glare.

"I am glad we have reached Lórien." Nieriel continued as if he had not spoken, and Elladan nodded, his eyes turning to the city. "Too much we were forced to bear. It makes me wonder what is to happen when we disembark from here."

"'We'? You will be going home." Elladan replied, as if stating a fact.

"Yes. I will be going home." Nieriel said staunchly, as if trying to convince herself. The unrest at the notion, which had never quite left in the first place, unnerved Nieriel with a poignant flare. Elladan looked to her then, so attuned to her voice and moods.

"You _are _going home, are you not?" He frowned, his lips thin. "Arwen is waiting for you. She needs you."

"I know this." Nieriel replied, her tone slightly edged with annoyance. _But do they need me here as well? Arwen is safe at home, in the capable hands of Elrond, surrounded by her people…_

"How are you healing?" Elladan changed the subject, and Nieriel was grateful for it. These thoughts of vacillation she did not welcome. She _had_ to go home. This was not her place. She belonged in Rivendell.

To distract her wandering thoughts she pulled up the hem of her gown to expose her ankle, wrapped neatly in a new, ivory bandage. "I had someone come and look at it; it is nothing more than a strain. I am to keep it elevated at night and rest it an hour a day bound with cool cloths, and wrap it with linen tightly when I am up and about."

She waggled her toes within her slippers to belittle her injury, watching Elladan and waiting for a snide remark, or perhaps a chide about her careless behavior. However when his eyes grew soft, the orbs never wavering from her bared skin, she suddenly became uncomfortable and hurriedly dropped her skirt, tucking it back around her legs with great care, clearing her throat roughly. The unrest within her grew enormously, for she felt Elladan's eyes slip from her foot to her face and linger there as if waiting to meet her eyes. However when Nieriel spent an obscene amount of time arranging her skirts and shuffling her feet, Elladan cleared his throat and continued speaking as if the moment had not transpired.

"That is good. I had hoped it was nothing more. Have you thanked the dwarf yet?" he asked with a raised brow and quite a rakish grin, and Nieriel glowered once more, the unrest subdued.

"As anticipated I am putting it off, though I am sure I will be reminded in due time."

Elladan tossed his head back and laughed, his brown hair tickling his chest, sweeping over his shoulder. Nieriel could not help but smile as well, for they so needed light and laughter in these times, and the sound was infectious.

"Come Elladan, tell me a story." Nieriel said, folding her legs beneath her for comfort as she reached for a piece of the pickings he had brought her. She rested her head against the pillowed backing of the chair and began to rock soothingly, bringing a small piece of cheese to her lips. "Something to distract me from these thoughts of darkness."

And, closer than old friends, they spoiled the night away doing just that.

* * *

The next morning rose grey, with a swirling mist winding throughout the city. Homes glowed with muted light as life below in the market, forges, and stores began, and the sun tried her hardest to peek through the clouds above. Nieriel was thankful for the thick gown brought to her for the day was cold, even within the confines of the council room of Lórien where a hearth roared with a crackling fire and torches gleamed bright, dancing with yellow flame.

"If we sail the Anduin," Gimli was growling, prodding a meaty finger at the large map sprawled out on the table before him. "That will take us directly to Mordor."

"Yes but you forget about Sarn Gebir," Boromir was shaking his head, pacing before the fire with a bandaged hand poised at his chin. "Those rapids are unmanageable, even for small boats."

"The river will be overrun with orcs as it is." Aragorn added, and Elrohir nodded his agreement. "Long past have they overtaken the waterways."

Those of the Fellowship were gathered in the great room, speaking of the journey to come. The hobbits sat in small chairs before the hearth while the others of the comradery gathered around a table where a map of Middle Earth was displayed. Galadriel and Celeborn were also present, lending their insight and wisdom, as well as Elladan and Elrohir. All appeared rested and well-fed, scrubbed clean and wearing fresh clothes offered to them by the generous hands of the Silvan Elves.

It had been decided the company would rest a week, perhaps two, in the splendid city of Lórien, though Nieriel had not decided if she were to stay that long. She wanted to lend her thoughts to the group; she had been a part of their decision making for so long and she knew this area well. But she missed Arwen desperately, and now that her end of the journey had come, a part of her was eager to return home.

A small part of her.

_You may be needed here more, _a voice whispered to her, but Nieriel refocused her attention to the map on the table to drown out the sound.

"We could take the Anduin to the Limlight, and then travel on foot through the Wold, take refuge in Rohan." Elladan pointed the path out, and Nieriel thought that was a good idea.

"We could stop if need be, speak with King Théoden to ascertain his stance in all of this." Nieriel said, and Aragorn looked up at her in puzzlement at her use of the term 'we'. Nieriel ignored him and continued, "Rohan lies close to Gondor, but the blood between them is thin. How have they fared thus far?"

Boromir blustered indignantly from his stance before the hearth, and Nieriel shot him a look of venom for it. "It is true. For so long Gondor has remained dormant even though the uprisings have increased."

"In any case." Aragorn said loudly, to head off the argument before it could begin. "That is a good plan. But we need another, because as surely as we will be attacked this plan will go awry."

"What other option is there?" Legolas asked, bent over the map, his brow drawn in thought.

"We could follow the Limlight and ride the outskirts of Fanghorn, and travel into Rohan that way." Elrohir offered.

Gimli noticeably quivered. "You court dark magic by seeking that place."

"As opposed to a witch here?" Galadriel asked with a twinkling smile, and Gimli flushed from his bearded chin all the way up to his hairline.

Nieriel could not help but snort her laughter, and even Aragorn's face broke into a smile as the others chuckled. When the laughter died it was Elrohir that said, "We do not have to go _in _the forest, merely around it. And I think any way we take we risk the wrath of our enemies. In any case, the river should be our last choice because it is the most unsafe route, but Elladan's plan seems to be the most navigable."

The others murmured their acquiescence, nodding at one another. Boromir slowed his pacing to come and look at the map while Elladan, Elrohir, and Aragorn spoke in low tones. Nieriel sighed and pushed away from the table, brushing a stray hair from her face. She was suddenly restless and walked toward the hearth, watching the orange flames dance with vigor as she paced.

_The way they will take… Will it be safe enough? And the hobbits, will they be able to handle the coarse terrain? If I were to go along I could help with the burden, guide them along the rivers…_

"You may rest here as long as you need." Galadriel bowed her head, and the talking ceased momentarily. "I would not want you to depart so soon if you are not ready. When your journey continues, all that we have to offer you is at your disposal."

Her eyes turned to Nieriel then, and she held out a slender, pale hand. "Nieriel, if you will join me?"

Startled, but nevertheless grateful for the reprieve, Nieriel swept past those at the table and took Galadriel's arm, and together they disembarked from the room, leaving the men to their discourse. In silence they walked the halls before descending the stairs that led them to a side door, which emptied out into the gardens behind the tall mellyrn tree.

"I have missed your company. I was hoping that you would stop here on your journey." Galadriel said softly, her bare feet traipsing the grass and moss-covered stones with grace as the door creaked slowly shut behind them.

"But then again, you knew we would." Nieriel replied, smiling at the Elven lady.

Galadriel's laughter tinkled, warming Nieriel's soul. The atmosphere seemed to get brighter in that moment, and the swirling tendrils of fog began to lighten. "Yes, that is true."

"Tell me how you are, Galadriel. How is Celeborn and Lórien?" Nieriel asked softly, as they slowly wound their way around bushes full of brightly colored blooms, around the thick trunks of trees. There was a grotto nearby, tinkling water from a small fall, and as they passed Nieriel watched a frog croak and then tumble into the deep.

Galadriel and Celeborn had been there when Elrond had brought Nieriel home, had been key in her survival and recovery. She looked to Galadriel as her own grandmother, though it felt silly thinking of her as such when Galadriel could pass for her sister, as age did not wither her features and if her coloring was but darker. The couple treated her much like family as well, though there were times when Nieriel's pride would not allow her to take advantage of such pleasures; today was not one of those times, when she was undergoing such internal strife and needed comfort and guidance.

"We are as we always are: away from harm, watching the outside from within. Our people leave for the Undying Lands more and more; you know the time of the Elves is over."

Nieriel nodded. "Rivendell is but the same. Except, of course, we experience attacks. None would dare threaten the peace of Lothlórien."

"Ah, but Lothlórien does not have the staunchest of protectors in you, Nieriel. Rivendell holds true, and you are a potent reason why."

Nieriel ducked her head at the praise, feeling pride swell within her.

"How is Arwen? I feel her sadness within me; I know it has to do with Aragorn." Galadriel said, and her tone was not unkind.

"They did not part on good terms when he left." Nieriel said, looking down at her slippered feet. "Elrond spoke to him before he departed, and something in his words caused Aragorn to waver in his love for Arwen. He chose to leave her behind, seemingly for her own good, while he vacillates over his decision whether or not to obtain the crown of Gondor. He carries the burden with him even now. He is under much stress."

_His lineage. His love for Arwen. This quest. I cannot imagine the turmoil he must be feeling without reprieve._

"And Arwen falters because of it," Galadriel said gently, her features withering with her own despair. Anguish lanced Nieriel's heart, and in that moment she knew she had to return to Rivendell. "Her heart is so pure, carries such love for Aragorn."

_And Elves may perish from sorrow, _Nieriel thought, and her throat tightened uncomfortably. _But Arwen is stronger than that. And she has me. I will not let her. It will not come to that._

"You are to return to her from here?" Galadriel inquired. "You are not to continue on with the Fellowship?"

Nieriel shook her head, thoughts of Arwen and returning to Rivendell suddenly clouding her mind.

"But why?" Galadriel questioned, and the intrigue startled Nieriel, for she was not expecting such a response. "Why, when such unrest lies within you?"

At Nieriel's blasted look, Galadriel laughed. "You are as dear to me as my own blood-kin; I know your sentiments, can feel your turmoil as if it were my own. But if that were not the case, you forget so easily the insight I possess."

Nieriel smiled softly, returning her gaze to her feet. The smile waned, did not last but a by-breeze, and Galadriel tipped her head to peer at Nieriel. "Come. Speak to me like you once did. You used to love to talk as a child."

"I have not been a child for a long time." Nieriel replied, and Galadriel's laughter was melodic.

"I am not blind, Nieriel." Nieriel felt silly then, for her words had come out harsher than she meant. She bowed her head in remorse, and so Galadriel continued. "Your problems may not be Aragorn's, or Arwen's, or even mine own, but they are just as great, yet you keep them to yourself."

"For who would care?"

Galadriel pinned her with a look of droll amusement, for they both knew the question was an absurd one.

Nieriel sighed, her gaze captured as a butterfly flitted past. "I do not want to speak of what I think."

"A poison it will turn inside you."

Nieriel hesitated, her fingers clasped so tightly against Galadriel's arm that they began to dig through the fine silk of her aquamarine gown. She knew Galadriel was right, and many a times the Elven noble had acted as her confidant. But to give voice to all she harbored…

_It is but Galadriel, _her mind whispered.

"I want to stay with the Fellowship." Nieriel began, and giving voice to the notion she secretly sheltered pained her, made her feel so disgustingly guilty, yet it liberated her in a breathless, rushing way. "But Arwen… I know she needs me. She is devastated by the loss of Aragorn, yet I cannot get him to realize his stubbornness to assuage them both. The others of the Fellowship I feel…close to. They are growing on me, whether I want to admit to, or even realize, it or not. We have been through such harrowing events in such a short amount of time, have grown to know and respect one another in different ways, learn each other's quirks and habits. Even the dwarf, Galadriel, and you know how I feel about dwarves. And then I feel guilty for such thoughts, for they drive me further from Arwen.

"I just cannot help but feel as though there is more for me if I remain. In more ways than one."

Galadriel tipped her head in question, wordlessly prompting Nieriel to continue.

But the words were hard for her, because she did not understand the sentiment behind them. They rushed out of her, an explosion of thought and feeling. "Legolas… He… I feel… _Different_ when he is near. He seeks me out relentlessly. He tries to make me laugh and smile, yet I do not know why, for whoever would care whether I smile or not? I feel him watching me more often than not. He taunts me, yet it does not bother me like it would if it were someone else, even Elladan or Elrohir." She blushed, crimson from her head to her toes. "I…lose myself, in a way, when he does those things. I cannot explain it. I do not understand it." _I do not want to. _"It is a silly notion anyway."

"Tell me why you feel as though those are silly notions."

"My place is not with him." Nieriel hardened once more, casting her foolish whims away. "My place is not with any of these people. This quest is not my own. I am to be loyal to Arwen. That is what awaits me."

Countless heartbeats passed; Nieriel was lost in her thoughts, barely heard when Galadriel asked, "Then you are to sail unto the West? For that is what awaits your lady, if all is to come to pass."

Nieriel slowed, and Galadriel did as well. They did not cease their walking, though Nieriel did not answer right away.

"In truth, Arwen asked me the same thing a few weeks ago. I had not thought about it then, and that has not changed in this moment." Nieriel replied, and Galadriel nodded her head in understanding.

"To leave this realm, everything I know and love so dearly, when I have yet so much to see… If I leave the company now, will it be in vain? I feel as if there is more I have to do, more I can accomplish. Almost as if I can change the outcome of this war if I stay, if only but a little longer."

"Have you felt that you have made a difference thus far?" Galadriel asked, and her tone made Nieriel think that she was not delving for her own answer, but to help Nieriel uncover her own.

"I suppose so, in a way. We have battled orcs and wargs, hidden from crebain. I have helped to scout, to guide them through the land that I am most familiar with. I have shared my knowledge about the foliage, the lands, giving tips here and there about living off of nature, sharing how I have survived for so long. I know which herbs in this area are best for seasoning, or which will better heal a cut or scrape. In turn they share as well, and they teach me things I did not realize I did not know. They explain the lands, the patterns of the seasons, what to expect during winter in the open fields. They tell me of places they have been, tell me stories of all they have encountered." Nieriel suddenly stopped, coming to the realization that she had rambled, and about things Galadriel had not asked.

Nieriel frowned, unsure of herself all of the sudden; the feeling stung. Maybe the trifling unsettling at the notion of leaving had been fabricated by her imagination. Maybe she was getting swept up in the adventure, the intrigue of it all.

And as if reading her thoughts Galadriel asked, "But how are you to experience everything there is if you are to leave?"

Nieriel could not answer. It was the conundrum that she found herself in, a conundrum that was growing more troubling as the hours, the thoughts drew on.

_And I so desperately want to experience everything I can. And she knows that. _Nieriel looked up at Galadriel, who was smiling down at her. Nieriel was tall, yes, but beside Galadriel she was small, for the woman was a goddess brought to life and towered over them all in every way.

"If I sail unto the West, leaving all of this behind, will I find my parents?" Nieriel asked softly, after a few heartbeats of pensive silence.

"Will you?" Galadriel replied, and Nieriel knew she would not answer even before she had asked. Galadriel was not inclined to share the future; she liked others to make their own decisions so fate could not be thwarted.

However the answer troubled Nieriel, more so now more than ever. Should she stay with the Fellowship? _To never see these beings again, to know if they lived or died?_ What would she find if she continued? _Is there more to be had? Will there ever be light through this darkness? _And if she returned home to Rivendell, would she sail unto the Undying Lands? Or would she find herself loathing in her decision to return to this quest? _Is there more for me, in ways that I had not ever thought of before?_

"If you will not answer me that, Galadriel," Nieriel said, choosing her words carefully, slowly. "Please think upon this: do you know who I am?"

Nieriel looked up at Galadriel, and the lady was smiling radiantly down at her. The arm resting against her own was warm, and her slim fingers curled along Nieriel's flesh, driving goosepimples to the surface. The air around them had lightened, so much so that they passed through a glorious ray of sunshine that had broken through the canopy of the trees above.

"No," Galadriel said, and Nieriel knew the answer had been coming, but still felt the sour pang of sorrow it always delivered when she asked; and she asked every time she came to visit her dear Galadriel.

However Galadriel's smile only widened, her eyes glimmering and bright as she continued, "But you will come to find yourself."


	15. Chapter 15: If You Dare

**Chapter Fifteen: If You Dare**

The nights in Lórien were as beguiling as the days, and this one was no different than the others, however perhaps the company was more pleasant. Though it was winter, and indeed the air did hint at cold, inside the cavernous dining room those of the Fellowship and its comrades did not feel anything but mirth and warmth. A swirling breeze wove in and out of the arching windows, displaying views of the sparkling city in the trees. Tapestries and curtains billowed and the flames from the torches flickered merrily as those at the tables laughed and chattered while the wine flowed freely from goblets and ale tumbled heartily from trenchers. Two blazing fires danced in opposite hearths, and the long table at which everyone sat offered food from simmering plates of fish, to hearty potato stew, from fresh baked bread to offerings of greens perfectly paired with a subtly sweet dressing, and anything the cooks could ponder to prepare in between.

There was only one sour face among the group and for once it was not Nieriel. Indeed she was smiling, near laughter, as everyone teased Gimli for not touching his food, rebuffing the green salad dressed with small, whole onions, glossy beets, and wild nuts.

"Come now Gimli, it is not as if it will spring to life to bite you!" Pippin said around a mouthful of food. Nieriel did not find his lack of manners so reviling as when she had first met him; in fact a laugh escaped when a slip fell past his lips.

"Aye, that is the problem!" Gimli lifted a leaf out of his bowl and released it with disdain so it could flop back into the dinnerware. "Where is the meat?"

"Our fare is not good enough for you, Master Dwarf?" Celeborn asked with a raised brow, and Gimli blustered, turning as purple as his beets as he grappled for something to say.

"Mayhap he is just afraid of trying something new." Nieriel's eyes dropped accusingly, yet laughingly, to Gimli's gut.

"Why… I have never… Wh-who are you to speak…to speak of such things!" Gimli sputtered indignantly, his outrage as crimson as the morning sun.

"Are you speaking of my weight or the fact that I presumably do not partake in things that I am not accustomed to? Because I would caution you against both." Nieriel replied, swirling the wine in her goblet with a pointed look at the dwarf.

"Name one time where you have done something bold or daring! Something that you normally would not do!" Gimli challenged, and perhaps the ale was speaking more than he was. "You walk around with a stick up your—"

"You mean those times where I have run headlong into battle? Where I have faced nazgûl and orcs and trolls without so much as a heartbeat's hesitation?" Nieriel arched a brow, taking a sip of her wine. She put the goblet on the table and pointed a finger at Gimli; perhaps the wine was speaking for her a little bit as well? "I will have you know, there are falls to the west of here and I used to jump from them. From the _top._"

Frodo burst out laughing, while Sam asked incredulously, "_You_?"

"For some reason I cannot see you being so foolhardy, if you do forgive me so for saying." Merry said, raising his trencher to her.

"She would come back scraped and soaking, but yes, I can attest to such." Galadriel murmured, and the hobbits hooted with laughter. "She and Arwen both."

Nieriel wiggled her eyebrows at them all as she raised her goblet once more, sipping the dry, red wine she so favored. "We would get lost exploring the caves to the north; hidden for hours in the tunnels and caverns. There was more than one time that Elladan and Elrohir would have to come and fetch us."

The twins nodded, Elladan chuckling as he feasted on his plate.

"And we are to lose this adventurous spirit; I have heard that you are to accompany us no further?" Frodo asked, and his wide, blue eyes held something in them…that Nieriel could not place. Perhaps it was dismay? _But that would be silly. For what reason would they have to miss me?_

"I cannot," Nieriel replied, for her mind had been made up. "Arwen is in need of me." Her eyes flitted to Aragorn, but he only looked at his plate, his happy mien dispelled.

"Truly? I thought that was merely bluster and you would surely change your mind." Legolas stated, and Nieriel felt her gaze pulled to his own no matter how badly she did not want to be pierced by his striking cobalt eyes.

Eyes that she knew would haunt her for the rest of her days.

_Shall I ever see them again?_

She looked away. _Do not think upon such silly notions. You know you will not._

"Yes."

"When, then?" Pippin piped, smoking and chewing at the same time.

"I have not yet decided." Nieriel replied, bringing her gaze to meet his even though she still felt Legolas watching her, beseeching her eyes once more to meet his own. "Perhaps I will stay for as long as it takes you to depart. It has been a long time since I have visited Lothlórien, as well as those I hold dear that reside here."

"Well I will not argue that! If you promise to tell us more of these stories." Pippin said, and Nieriel could not help it when a smile took her, her sadness forgotten for the time being, and she began to indulge.

* * *

It was to be a night where sleep eluded her, and so Nieriel found herself in the lull of one of the grottos, sitting upon a moss-covered rock above the opening to watch the water spill from within into a small pool. Frogs and toads chimed their night lullaby, and a pair of owls hooted from the branches above. All else was asleep, and though Nieriel knew she should be too, the conversation with Galadriel from a few days ago preoccupied her yet.

She had brought along her whetstone and her knives on this nighttime stroll and had planned to drown out her thoughts with the monotonous grounding of blade against stone, however they were laid beside her untouched, for her eyes had yet to rove from the roiling water below.

She had been a fool to give reality to her thoughts, even to her dear Galadriel. To speak them aloud… _Such a silly girl, _her conscience chided, _for where were those thoughts to take you? Do you really think anything could become of your supposed affections? They are nothing but passing fancies, as it is, and he is merely curious of you. Nothing more. You will do well to remember that the next time you place too much sentiment in the princeling's actions._

She reached for her whetstone, yet got no further than placing it in her lap. _Perhaps he is like this with all the ladies he meets. Or not at all. Who am I to find out? I am no one, an orphan and a servant. A servant who belongs with her mistress. Not here. And the longer I keep myself from my duties the more Arwen suffers without me, and the more misery it causes mine own self._

Nieriel sighed, and then turned her eyes to the canopy of the forest. The moon hung high in the sky amidst his fellow stars, though their white light was scattered, broken by the many leaves and branches that made up the forest. Nieriel's thoughts became so crowded, like the groupings of stars up above, and she suddenly feared she would find no succor this night, and that she would fall into a fitful sleep beget of nightmares.

_Ah, but there is a sound on the forest floor…_

"Should I always expect you to creep up on me?" Nieriel asked over her shoulder, a slim brow raised in question. "Or only when you think I do not know you are there?"

Legolas laughed lightly, coming to sit next to her on the rock with a graceful sweep of his body. He moved like water, so fluid and languid, with grace and ease. "Only then."

"To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?" Nieriel asked, picking up one of her knives to distract her mind, and more so to draw attention away from her suddenly quaking hands.

_What he does to me._

"I have come to try and persuade you to stay with us." Legolas said, and his tone was very sure as he nodded sharply.

"Oh?" Nieriel felt her lips twitch, wanting to smile as they so ever did in his presence. Her eyes flickered to him once, twice, so desperately wanting to drink up the sight of him under the moon and star light.

_It is not to be. You will return home. And there you will stay._

_ You will forget him with the passing of time. As it should be._

She forced her eyes to stay on the blade in her hand. Her lips turned flat and thin.

"Yes." Legolas said, his own head tipped up to the sky. His platinum hair tumbled down over his back, so straight and soft she knew it would be. His eyes, the color of sparkling cerulean in the low light of the moon, were narrowed in thought, and Nieriel's will betrayed her when she glanced at him, and suddenly thought that she would give anything to know what was on his mind. His features, usually so light with his carelessness, were drawn tight, and that was how she knew there was more to him this night; his lips, usually so soft and joyously turned, were thin, and there were hard lines around his eyes that she had never seen before. His shoulders were taut, and though his hands were poised in his lap his fingers were restless, white-knuckled. Dressed in hues of green and blue he looked regal against her pallid and drab maiden's ware, and Nieriel starkly realized he looked the superior noble he so surely was. She looked away once more.

_He is a prince. I am nothing._

"We could use your skill for what is to come," Legolas continued, and her heart betrayed her to wither.

_He sees me as no more than a warrior. Another fighting hand. _She felt her shoulders droop, yet she picked them back up, hardening her resolve. _Well what other side have I shown him? It is my own fault._

_ Stop these labile thoughts! _She chastised herself, glaring at her whetstone and blade as if they were the root of all of her problems. _For what does it matter what he thinks of you anyway? He seeks you out for your companionship, nothing more. Anything else you may have thought of him is fanciful, made up by your over-imaginative mind. _Her conscience harrumphed and continued, _you need to stop reading so many books._

"You have more than enough aide. I will not make a difference," Nieriel replied, her tone hard. She began to sharpen her blade, though her movements were slow, measured so she was not so clumsy as before; the memory still burned.

Her heart, the traitorous thing, suddenly reminded her, _Ah, but that is not what you were telling Galadriel, now was it?_

But she was steadfast in this. She had made her decision to return, despite the thoughts that would continue to plague her of what it would be like to remain. The thoughts would diminish, fade with time, until they dissipated altogether, to be lost with the memories of her short time with the Fellowship. In the back of her mind they would smolder to ash, becoming nothing but distant recollections in the years that awaited her as she attended her lady Arwen.

"May I?"

Nieriel first looked up into his eyes, and then censured herself for such foolishness. She briskly looked down the length of his arm to his open palm, and realized he was asking for one of her knives. Reluctantly, for she did not so willingly part with them, she released one of them into his care, and he read the inscription before inspecting the shining light of the blade.

"What is it you hold dear, Nieriel?" he asked, and his voice like honey thrummed along the vertebrae in her spine. "Perhaps these weapons? Your horse, the arrogant Stormwind? Your skill with a blade?"

_Why does he ask these things? _she thought with a frown, before responding, "I hold dear my family, those that are close to me. They are what is most important. Those knives, my skill, even Stormwind I would trade if the life of one I hold near to me were in the balance."

Legolas turned the blade and Nieriel watched him closely. His eyes did not move, were not inspecting the length of the blade; he was peering intently at the fine leather handle. His next words seemed almost offhand, as careless as he portrayed himself to be, but Nieriel sensed that there was more to them, to him. His demeanor spoke for something _more._

"And what do you desire?"

He looked up at her then, meeting her eyes. They stared at one another, and Nieriel could not help but think, though thought was very little, that her answer had great meaning. Her heart was trotting, cantering, galloping, and her breaths were so shallow she could feel her cheeks flushing. She hid it, the restlessness of her fingers too, but for everything she was worth she could not pull her eyes from his own. His own eyes flickered then, wavered even, and if she did not know any better Nieriel would think he was tense waiting for her answer.

_This male, he is more than he depicts. Not only a skilled warrior, but cunning, clever too. He may like to tell tales and laugh, but he can be serious, steadfast and true. He would just as easily slit the throat of an enemy as he would tell a jest. He has a side to him, like the rest of us, which is darker, more secret, than the other, where he thinks things that he would not so readily share. I think I am seeing a glimpse of that side now._

Still, her answer did not change. For that was Nieriel; if she was not herself, than she would be no one at all. And so her words rang true.

"I desire peace," she replied softly, her eyes locked to his own. "And love. Belonging, acceptance, and one day a family, a home of my own with someone who can offer me those things, with laughter and loyalty unbound."

Seconds filled with the sounds of the night crept by, until finally Legolas tore his gaze from her own. He offered her blade back to her waiting grip, and Nieriel grasped the hilt with a trembling fist before returning her gaze to her task.

_How am I to think about anything else but those words? What did he hope to garner by asking? _Why _did he ask me those things? Is it mere curiosity? _she thought, sliding her whetstone along the edge of her knife. Suddenly, desperately, she wanted to ask Legolas of what he had questioned her, but her throat was too tight, her heart beating too rapidly to think straight, to even form words. And so wordlessly they sat next to one another, trapped in their own thoughts, as the night wore on around them.

* * *

A week soon traipsed by, and life at Lórien agreed with Nieriel. She was putting off her journey to Rivendell and she was not the only one who knew it, but she was having too much of a great time to squander it on a borrowed horse just yet. She assuaged the guilt by telling herself that Arwen was in the capable hands of Elrond and that she still had things to do to help the Fellowship to prepare. It worked, yet some nights she got less sleep than others. However the nightmares stayed at bay, and for that Nieriel was glad.

However her remorse grew each day, for she knew Arwen was expecting her. That and Nieriel acknowledged that Aragorn would manage fine without her, and she could now tell Arwen this with confidence. Yet as much as her burning shame singed her, and guilt was ever her bitter companion, the unsettling in her chest grew, beckoning her to stay.

Surprisingly, to herself and others, she spent her days with the Fellowship: the hobbits she would take to the yard and show them techniques with her blades, Gimli and Boromir in tow; she scouted with Legolas and Aragorn; the twins she spent her afternoons with, sparring or reading or walking the city. One morning she even led the hobbits up to the Cerin Amroth and they spent the day exploring the tunnels of the caves nearby! The nights she passed with Galadriel, and sometimes Celeborn and the twins, sitting before the hearth and sharing thoughts and stories.

_Perhaps I am warming to these foreign fellows for we have been through so much together. We also share the grief for Gandalf, so dear he was to us all. Or perhaps they are growing on me, all their faults and feelings and quirks, and I should not try to find an excuse for it._

The Fellowship was planning on leaving Lórien to continue their trek in less than a week's time and Nieriel had planned to disembark before they did. But as the days meandered by and time wove on, she could not bring herself to do it. However, as the second week in Lothlórien came to a close, she knew, without any more vacillating, that she had to begin her own preparation to return home.

But she was not thinking of that now. The sun was setting beautifully to the west, painting the sky glorious hues of violet, amber, and crimson over the Misty Mountains. The Field of Celebrant had turned golden in the dying light, and the tall grass whipped wildly in the winter breeze that stormed across the field and scattered the white clouds above. Legolas and Nieriel, for it was just the two of them who had gone out scouting, had ridden all the way to the North Undeep, where the Limlight and Anduin Rivers met. Nieriel had not wanted to traverse so far from Lórien, for indeed they had even ridden into the Brown Lands, but Legolas had convinced her, beguiling her with tales of a domain she had yet to see. They had not dallied long, for they were desolate lands, and were now trotting merrily back to Lórien on their borrowed mounts.

"I thought I was going to have to physically pull you from the shallows," Legolas was teasing her, and Nieriel was allowing it, secretly basking in it. "If I did not know any better, I would think you would have spent all night there splashing and dancing."

"First of all, I do not dance," Nieriel countered indignantly, though her smile was radiant. "Secondly, I was not _splashing, _but if I had been I would have been better at it than you."

"My mount was clumsy along the rocks! If I had Greenleaf I—"

"_Greenleaf? _You named your horse after _yourself_?" Nieriel asked, barking out a laugh.

Legolas arched a brow, straightened his shoulders. "And why not? It is a regal name, begetting of a noble lineage."

Nieriel threw back her head and laughed, and the sound traveled for miles. They had carried on like this most of the day, bantering, sharing stories, and amusing one another, as if they were friends long past. And Nieriel supposed they were, in a sense. They had shared a small meal midday, galloped wildly over the river, and traversed the fields for foes. Although none of it felt like a chore; more and more, Nieriel had been enjoying herself, opening up to this male.

_For your time with him is short. And you will never see him again._

"Have you ever seen the coast?" Legolas asked, and when Nieriel shook her head he gazed out toward the mountains in the west. "I imagine it to be so splendid, with crashing waves of blue and green that would carry a refreshing mist with each advance. The sand would be soft, a distant brown, sparkling with all shapes and sizes and colors of shells, while birds danced along the shore."

"You have never been then?" When he shook his head Nieriel replied, "Maybe after all of this is over you will make a trip one day. To the south, where it is warm, and the corsairs come to sell their wares."

Legolas tilted his head, a smile so light on his lips. He swayed with the prancing of his horse, though his eyes were fixed on Nieriel, as they had been most the entire day.

Not that she had noticed or anything.

"If I were to ever visit them, I would want—"

There was a sickening twang, and Nieriel felt an explosion of pain in her left thigh. She looked down a moment too late; a second arrow embedded itself into the gauntlet at her wrist, and though she was protected she still felt its bite. Her horse reared, screeching angrily, just as a cacophony of furious enemy shrieks echoed throughout the fields.

"_Nieriel!_"

At Legolas's shout, her horse lunged into a panicked gallop, sending her near tumbling from its back. A cry of pain-filled fury escaped her, but she knew she had to take control, and pulled hard on the reins. Arrows began to sing past her; some struck her horse, deflected by the leather armor, others entrenched themselves into the ground as her destrier leapt over the plains. She felt another arrow implant itself against her right shoulder, but her leathers were too thick to allow it to penetrate more than a scratch. Nevertheless, she crouched low over her horse and kicked his sides, desperate to get out of immediate harm's way.

_They must have followed us from the Brown Lands! _She heard the bellow of an orc behind her, and glanced at Legolas as he donned his bow and notched an arrow. His horse was sprinting, its face one of complete terror, yet he had turned in the saddle and was letting his arrows fly.

_What I would not give for my own bow!_

Pain laced its way up from her thigh with each hoofbeat, and though she know she should not Nieriel glanced down. Of course, the arrow had hit in an area that was not covered with leather, and blood was steadily trickling from the lathering wound. The arrow bobbed with each jostle from the horse, grinding pain from her nerve-endings, up her spine, to the base of her skull, to ricochet throughout her mind.

Angrily, she reached over and yanked out the one in her arm, glaring at the tip before she tossed it to the ground racing by below. _Poison. _She knew the one in her back would have to stay; she would not grapple for it now and lose her balance. The one in her leg was staunching the bleeding for now, so that as well would stay, but she had to make it to Lórien soon for the poison was already beginning to spread, and it would spread quickly. Her racing heart would pump her blood faster and faster, circulating the contagion.

She heard bellows and grunts, snarls and yips; orcs on wargs, she thought, and more than just a handful. They were sorely outnumbered, and with her being injured she was useless. Would be more useless if help did not come soon.

The forest soon loomed before them, bathed indigo in the dying light. Legolas was running out of arrows and she had begun to sweat, could feel her face paling as the arrow dug deeper into her skin with every pounding gallop. _Of course it would hit the leg that had been most recently injured. _She had just stopped wearing the bandage for her strain. _Of bloody course. _She ducked lower, for the arrows were still flying about her head. Her fingers began to quake violently as her grip loosened, slackened on the reins.

Blessedly, Nieriel watched as riders broke the line of the forest, and a contingent of ally troops began to notch their own bows. Orophin and Rumil soon lurched past her on seething mounts, leading the others with their bows bending and arrows flying. Haldir rode straight for her, his face set in grim displeasure as his burgundy cloak whipped behind him and archers covered his advance.

"How many times have you been hit?" he asked, his flaring eyes looking at the arrow protruding from her back.

Sweat beaded on her brow and her breathing had grown strained with her waning adrenaline and increased agony. Legolas pulled his horse to a rearing stop as the sound of battle broke out over the field, and both men looked at her swaying precariously in the saddle, her eyes hooded yet enflamed with rage and pain.

"Three times. The leg is the worst." They looked down then, saw her left leg completely saturated with deep, scarlet blood. She twisted her jaw, refusing to take pity. "I would go back there and see them all slaughtered!"

"Do not be foolish." Haldir snarled. "Hold on." He reached over to take her reins from quaking hands, and Nieriel relinquished them reluctantly yet with gratitude, for she suddenly felt very fatigued. She bent over the neck of her mount, clutching at his mane and neck, as Haldir kicked his own into motion. They were off again, with Legolas at her side and out of arrows, racing for Lothlórien. Which left Nieriel to struggle to keep her eyes open, to stay alert, and to slow her dashing heart. It knew no better than to pump so sporadically, and her futile attempts to calm herself went unacknowledged, even though she knew her very survival depended on it.

_If you fall you will be in worse shape. Stay awake. Stay focused. _The pain was searing and she could taste the poison in her mouth. Branches whipped at her frame, scratching her face and catching her hair, as Haldir led the way through the forest, Legolas silently intent as he rode behind her.

With each branch that struck her, each hole that was leapt, Nieriel struggled to fend off the pain more and more. She cried out when a tree broke off the end of the arrow in her leg, and her vision wavered dangerously. She swallowed and blinked rapidly, but the blurring forest around her took longer to bring to focus, and the sounds around her were growing muted.

_Marked thrice with poison… _she thought dimly as they began the race down the fosse that would lead them to the center of Caras Galadhon. A horn began to blow, harkening their arrival, but the world had begun to dim and Nieriel began to feel lightheaded, sick to her suddenly roving stomach. She tried to focus on Haldir sprinting on his mount ahead of her, his silver armor gleaming and claret cloak a beacon for her to focus on, but her eyes so desperately wanted to close, to bear away the pain. _For just a moment…_

The three riders came to sliding halts before the thick tree in the center of the city, and Nieriel was dimly aware that Galadriel and Celeborn had appeared atop the stairs, among others she could not make out. She blinked against the light that was so suddenly harsh to her eyes, and she tried to moisten her lips to speak through a mouth that abruptly felt like it was filled with linen. _I have to warn them, to tell them what happened… _She sat up straight in her saddle and then instantly regretted it, for the world went black.

* * *

Legolas jumped from his horse at the same moment Nieriel sat up straight in her saddle and promptly listed to the side. He leapt to her aide and caught her before she fell to the ground, and with a surge of strength bolstered by adrenaline he swept her off her feet and completely into his arms. The arrow from her shoulder brushed against his abdomen and hip and he glanced at her leg, could not contain a grimace. Her breeches were soaked with blood, her boots completely covered. The wound itself was irritated, angry, swollen, and red; he knew the arrows to be poisoned. _Lowlife scum. Cowards using poisoned arrows! _he thought, turning his gaze to the main house. Galadriel and Celeborn were sweeping down the stairs, Elladan and Elrohir quick on their heels, while others spilled out from various parts of the city. Legolas moved swiftly to follow Haldir who was already speaking with Celeborn on what had happened, with Galadriel listening worriedly by his side.

"Legolas?"

He turned his eyes to Nieriel, stumbling in his movements to a halt. She was desperately trying to open her eyes against the harsh sounds surrounding her, the muted light of the sunset, but they watered from pain. His name passed slurred from her trembling, pale lips, and he watched as she raised a hand to touch his face, but dropped it from weakness.

"Be easy." Legolas told her, and she closed her eyes to the comfort of his voice, though it broke on the second word. "You will be well soon enough."

Blissfully, she went limp in his arms, the blackness taking her once more. His heart leapt, catching in his throat, and his legs went weak, almost buckled. Panic seized him, though he knew from the steady rise and fall of her chest that she lived, was merely unconscious. _A strong fighter you are, stay with me Nieriel, _he thought, just as Elladan barked harshly, "What happened?"

"We were attacked out scouting," Legolas said, and the feeling in his legs had yet to return, therefore he could not move quite yet. Though with Elladan so suddenly blocking his ascent, he wondered how far he would have gotten anyway. "She needs attention."

"Give her to me." Elladan ordered, his tone so commanding. His brother stood behind him, his face a mask of stoicism, while others scrambled about the courtyard in their distress; soldiers mounted for battle, the hobbits watched the exchange with wide, stricken eyes. Gimli was roaring for retribution, calling for a horse, while Boromir and Aragorn strapped their swords about their waists.

"The movement will pain her." Legolas said, his tone bordering on aggravation. "If you will but move out of the way, I can take her inside."

"You have put her in this position!" Elladan shouted, and those around him paused to recognize his ire. He remained oblivious to them, was only glaring heatedly at Legolas. "She would have never ridden so far out to meet enemies, not here in Lórien! Tell me, how far did you go?"

Legolas's aggravation flared to full-blown fury. "I will not speak of this to you now. Nieriel needs to be seen by a healer. Move out of the way."

"_How far did you ride?_" Elladan roared, and even threatened to advance. His brother placed a hand on his shoulder to stay him a second before Strider appeared, lightly brushing past the Elven noble.

"Bring her here, Legolas." he beckoned, making a path for him to follow. With not even a glance at Elladan, Legolas took the way cleared by Aragorn, meeting Galadriel halfway up the stairs. She first looked at him, in that eerie, mysterious way that made him feel like she could read him as though he were a tome, and then gently laid a hand on Nieriel's brow, her face growing soft as she gazed down at her.

Her iridescent eyes lifted back to him. "This way, if you will, Prince of Mirkwood."

* * *

Within the hour Nieriel had been placed in her room and seen to by Galadriel. In the midst of all the chaos Legolas had been pushed to the outskirts, forced to wait in the hall as she was undressed, cleaned, treated, and bandaged, while he was never once updated on her prognosis. He never heard her cry out, and he tried desperately to catch glimpses of her every time the door to her chambers opened, but there was so much going on and so many people moving about that he could not see. He asked every maid that went in or out for an update but they were all so close-lipped, and so he refused to move until he found out whether she would recover, or if more needed to be done to help.

_I will ride anywhere, fetch anything they need. _He asked constantly, would pace before the door, ready to ensnare anyone that was so unlucky to cross him, until finally, after hours of waiting, Galadriel floated from the room, a trail of servants trickling out behind her. The door snickered shut with care, and Legolas opened his mouth the moment it was closed.

"She will rest now," Galadriel said, and her tone brokered no argument. Her hands rested intertwined in the long folds of her sleeves, and she peered down at Legolas with those eyes ever-knowing. "And so should you."

"I would like to see her." Legolas said, and he did not know where he got his boldness from to be so forward, or why it so suddenly mattered that he get into that room. "I need to make sure she is all right with mine own eyes."

_Because Elladan was right: this is my fault._

"You do not trust my word?" Galadriel asked, and Legolas suddenly realized his fault in her reproachful tone and lowered his eyes in remorse.

"Allow me to apologize," he began, ducking his head in the semblance of regret. "I speak out of worry for Nieriel. It is not that I do not trust you, but my own conscience will not be assuaged if I do not see her for myself."

"If I told you she would live through this night and make a well enough recovery to return to Rivendell in five days' time, would that be enough to appease your concern?"

A discomforting sense of unrest suddenly loomed over Legolas, as though a dark cloud had overtaken the sky and a vicious storm threatened. But he was inside, and that was an absurd notion. Still, his chest ached, and he could not fathom why. Yet he answered honestly, "I do not think it would."

Galadriel smiled and offered her arm for him to take. Legolas had no choice but to oblige her wish, and when he took her arm and rested it next to his own he realized how filthy he truly was. His clothes were caked with dust, his hands crusted with dried blood from using his bow in rapid-fire succession. His skin was streaked with mud and his boots left marks on the polished wooden floor as Galadriel led him away from Nieriel.

_I need to stay, for when she awakens…_

_ Do you think she will truly want to see you? You are the cause of this. _His conscience snapped, and he withered slightly. _If not for me, she _would not have _ridden out so far. It was at my behest, my encouraging, that we did._

Suddenly, all of the exhaustion rent from the past hours, all the stress and concern for Nieriel came crashing onto his shoulders all at once. He felt weary past his millennia of life, felt every sore in every muscle, every twinge in every bone. But for the life of him he could not stop thinking about Nieriel, how she had looked with the arrows protruding from her. Gods, but she had been so strong! The pain had been but a shadow on her face as they rode hard for Lórien, as she had ripped the arrow _from her own skin_. She had not grimaced at the blood or shirked from their ordeal. And he could not stop a fierce wave of respect from overtaking him as he recalled that she had wanted to turn around and fight those bastards until every last one of them had been massacred.

_But will she live?_

He glanced over his shoulder, back to where he knew Nieriel rested, and Galadriel did not miss the movement. "May I ask why you worry for her so? Have you grown close?"

_In a way… _Legolas could not think, was so preoccupied. He brought his eyes to his boots, for they had rounded a corner and Nieriel's room could be seen no more. _...I do not even know that I understand._

"Yes." he answered simply, and Galadriel peered at him with her feline eyes upturned with amusement, as if she could sense his inner turmoil. As if she could _read it_ through his eyes and delighted in it.

_Will she live? And will she then leave as Galadriel so speaks? Will I never see her again? Never seek her out for conversation, so cleverly intriguing, or learn about her past, her present, inquire about her future? I will never get to gaze at her, or to tease her… I was just getting her to smile, to laugh… And that is to be taken from me? _The worry, the unrest, the unknowing, and the unsettling feeling of…why any of this would matter…

He sighed heavily, his thoughts too much. Unbeknownst to him, they had reached his rooms, and Galadriel was curtsying before him gracefully.

"Sleep now, for you seek solace from all things." she told him, and he knew, in that moment, with her glimmering blue eyes and wry smile, that even if she could not read his thoughts they were so plain on his face. "She will be well upon the morrow."

* * *

_**AN: **_Thank you for your patience; I have no excuse except to say summer has gotten the best of me and I've been busy these last couple of weeks! I am delighted that the majority of you are enjoying this so far, and thank you kindly and most warmly for any and all feedback I have been given. I love reading your reviews, and the more the merrier! You all are too wonderful for words; I honestly cannot thank you enough!

Until we meet again,

_ithilbereth_


	16. Chapter 16: In This Moment

**Chapter Sixteen: In This Moment**

Legolas had stayed away for as long as his guilt could force him and as much as his heart could abide. The next day had come and gone, and supper had been a quiet affair; Elladan had stonily glared at him from his seat while his brother remained stoic, Aragorn had been lost to his own thoughts while Boromir engaged in low tones with Celeborn, and Gimli and the hobbits had taken to Nieriel's room to keep her company. Indeed she had woken today, and Legolas had been secretly reassured after he may or may not have cornered a maid that she was well on her way to recovery, thanks to the wonderfully healing hands of Galadriel. This pacified him greatly, yet there was still unrest within him knowing that she would be leaving in only a matter of days, if Galadriel's foretelling was to be true.

_Could I convince her to stay? She cannot possibly be ready to travel such a distance in only a matter of days. _He often pondered this, was now even as he walked to her room. _What could I say that would possibly persuade her so? I know she is eager to return to Rivendell, and one does not simply tell Nieriel what to do. And what do I hold up to Arwen? I am no more than an acquaintance to her, I am sure._

His boots made little sound against the wood, yet his heart thundered and his thoughts collided with each step. For all of his solitude and reflection today, he still could not fathom why anything concerning Nieriel mattered so greatly. But he was far past the point of caring; all that mattered was seeing her.

_Perhaps she has changed her mind and will stay a little longer. After all, it would be the best thing for her… And maybe I could stay with her, to see her through her healing._

He rounded the corner to her rooms and saw the door open up ahead, and an abundance of light was spilling out from within. He could hear a hearth crackling and the sounds of the night were drowned out by the boisterous laughter and conversation from the inhabitants of her room. His feet slowed before he came to a halt, only paces from the door, to eavesdrop on the happenings within.

"You sure you do not want any more to eat, lassie? You need you keep your strength up!" Legolas could hear a plate scraping over wood, and then came Nieriel's light reply.

"I do not have the appetite of a dwarf, Gimli." Her tone was harsh, yet Legolas detected a hint of mirth on their air. Her next words were gentler, "But I thank you."

He closed his eyes briefly. _She is alive. _She sounded weary, her voice hoarse, but by the gods she was alive. Relief, a gentle, cooling caress, swept through him knowing it was true, hearing it for himself.

"What were the Brown Lands like?" Pippin asked, and Legolas cringed. _Not worth the tumult we underwent to see them, _he thought, as his eyes flashed back open.

"You have already asked me this Pippin."

"Well I know! But Gimli interrupted."

The dwarf grumbled something Legolas did not make out while Nieriel sighed. "They were brown, Pippin. Desolate. You know their story?"

He must have shook his head because Nieriel continued. "The lands were the home of the Entwives, who had once made great gardens there. They were so talented that they taught their skill to Men and Hobbits. However, during the War of the Last Alliance they were driven from their home and destroyed. The area became a desert; no trees would grow, no grass would turn green. No flowers, no moss, not even a thistle bush would blossom."

"They say that the Ents crossed the Anduin in search of the Entwives when they did not return home as they so often did. One named Treebeard was convinced that the Entwives were not all destroyed, but lost," Frodo supplied.

"A sad tale," Gimli huffed, a great sigh overtaking him.

"And that is where you think the orcs followed you from?" Merry asked, and Legolas cringed again at the reminder that he had royally mucked up. _She had not wanted to see any of it. I should have listened._

"Yes." Nieriel said, and Legolas turned away, his guilt too strong.

_I was foolish to come here._

"Ah, you but needed me there lassie, to see you through!" Gimli said proudly, and Legolas was sure he thumped his chest. However he heard no more, for he turned the bend and left the hall without a look back.

Legolas's footsteps took him to the centerfold of the structure, for he did not want to be in his rooms with guilt and shame his only companions. The unsettling feeling of discontent he could not explain was piercingly grey and dismal, and solitude would only invite it to blacken. _Perhaps I can find Aragorn mulling about the fire as he always does._

However the mighty throne room was empty, yet beyond and to the right of the dais he saw fire flickering from one of the doorways. As Legolas walked toward the beckoning light he could hear a wind whipping the trees outside, promising a storm, and the leaves of the mellyrn rattling in reply. The creatures of the forest were silent this night, and even the sounds of the falls from the grottos were dim.

_It is my fault she lays there. She should leave, go home where she is safe and happy with her lady. _Legolas gritted his teeth, anger at himself and his idiocy suddenly hot in his veins. _I was a fool to ever think otherwise._

He appeared in the doorway and drew the gaze of Aragorn, who was resting before the hearth with a heavy trencher in his hand. His legs were spread long before him and his posture slumped in the plush, crimson-padded chair, and he welcomed Legolas with a gesture without changing his stance.

"Seeking company?" Aragorn asked, as Legolas took a seat in the other chair before the fire. They were secluded in a small den that did not face the wrath of the wind, and where the draft was not so stinging.

"More or less." Legolas replied, and readily took the extra trencher Aragorn offered him.

Silent moments passed in which Legolas drank half of the ale Aragorn favored and he could care less of. Still, it gave him something to occupy his time and his mouth, and it quieted his thoughts if but a little.

"Have you been to see Nieriel?" Aragorn asked, and Legolas shook his head.

"She has been preoccupied," he replied, and it was true. He knew Elladan had spent most of the day with her (more information he had coerced from the maid), and she had had many other visitors as well when she was not resting or being tended to.

"But she has asked for you." Aragorn said, and Legolas startled so hard the sip of ale he was taking went down the wrong way, and he coughed quite dramatically.

"She has?"

Aragorn nodded, his vacant eyes on the flames. "Two or three times. I sent for you once, but you were sleeping. Another time I asked Elladan to bear the news, but I am guessing it did not reach you."

Legolas arched a brow at his friend. "There is no lost love between us."

"But why?" Aragorn asked. "Have you met before and had some ill ways between you?"

Legolas shook his head. _At first I just liked to rankle him. But then it became more when he could not recall common decency. _"Not that I can remember." He looked down into his trencher and swirled the ale that remained, his eyes hard. "I deduce that it has to do with Nieriel. Are they close?"

Aragorn shrugged carelessly. "Not more so than any sibling would be. But they have many years between them, too. Yet neither has ever mentioned a courtship." He looked at Legolas thoughtfully. "What makes you think it has to do with Nieriel?"

"He is so protective of her." Legolas spat, his words full of ire. "He is always pushing his way between us, or interrupting, or speaking for her."

"Perhaps it is just his brotherly instinct." Strider supplied, but Legolas's look said otherwise. Aragorn let out a humorless laugh. "You think it more?"

Legolas looked back toward the fire, the grey of his mood turning to black in an instant.

"Is there a reason you are asking?" Aragorn hedged, and Legolas shot him a dark look of contempt.

"I will not speak of this to someone who has scorned their own."

Aragorn raised his brows, having gotten the warning loud and clear. Legolas groaned, tipping back his head and closing his eyes. "Forgive me." The '_I do not know where that came from' _went unsaid, yet hung like a pendulum above Legolas's bared neck.

"Mayhap you should go see her." Aragorn said after a few heartbeats of agonizing quiet.

Legolas suddenly knew it would be the only way to dispel the black cloud that had yet to give him peace; it would only start to storm if he did not. _If she has asked for me, perhaps it is because she wants to see me. _He shifted his weight, but did not stand, still vacillating. _Or perhaps it is to berate me._

Legolas sighed and then set aside his trencher after contemplating his actions for another few minutes. _I cannot fool myself into thinking I do not desire to see her. It has been all I thought about, and I will get no peace otherwise. _He stood and turned for the door, yet paused and looked back at Aragorn. The ranger was smiling at him, his brows lifted slightly in question. Legolas huffed and merely said, "Thank you for the ale." and left Strider to himself.

The ranger's laughter followed him all the way from whence he had come not a half hour before.

When he turned the bend of the hall where Nieriel's room was, he found the way quiet. The door was shut, and beyond he could hear someone flittering about her room and murmured voices from within, not the noise that had been there before. He paused, yet a moment later the door opened and a maid backed out, carrying a basket full of healing supplies, asking if Nieriel needed anything more.

"No, and you may leave the door open Lúthien. The draft feels nice. Thank you."

The maid curtsied and turned, and startled when she saw Legolas looming there in the low glow of the hall. He placed a finger to his lips and beckoned her on, and the young girl curtsied before hurrying past him with her head bowed.

Legolas crept silently to the doorway, holding his breath. He could hear Nieriel settling down in her bed, and then the creaking of a book binding, followed by the flipping of old pages. She was humming lightly; had he ever heard her voice so light, her tone so innocuous? True, she could not carry a melody, but the sound sent a twinge from the base of his spine dancing up along every vertebrae, every nerve ending he possessed. His fingers shook as he raised his hand, poised to knock on the frame.

_I will see her. Finally._

_ She has asked for me._

The breath rushed out of him as he knocked, and he thought he heard her sigh before she called, "Come in."

Slowly he moved into view, making little sound. Nieriel was watching the doorway, her fingers curled around a tome, and when she saw him her eyes flared and she smiled a soft, glowing smile that warmed him from his toes to his chest, where the warmth settled. The black cloud that suffocated him began to lighten, turning to mulish grey, to a soft winter's ash, to the peaceful ivory of a dove, before it dissipated all together. He smiled in return, pausing in the doorway to take in her features; she was pale, yet her cheeks were rosy, her lips a burnished pink to match. Her green eyes were bright, yet he could read the exhaustion she harbored in the lines and dark circles under them. Her russet hair was pulled back in a braid that laid over one shoulder to tickle her bosom and then pool at her waist. She was dressed in a nightrobe of violet, so stark against her creamy skin, and she sat up in bed propped with countless pillows, with blankets of rabbits' fur and woven of gentle, cream linen all around her.

"Legolas," Her voice was still hoarse, yet it did not hold the loathing he had been expecting. "Please," she gestured toward a chair, her slender hand bandaged.

"How are you feeling?" The words rushed out of him, and he slowly maneuvered through the small room, lest his suddenly clumsy feet tumble, to sit in the chair.

She gently placed her hands in her lap before reaching up to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. Her eyes flickered to the book in her lap as if she were suddenly shy and did not want to meet his eyes as she said, "I am well. Recovering fine."

"The poison…?" If it lingered, it could cause the loss of a limb. Panic gripped him in an ice-cold fist.

Nieriel smiled, lifting her head to face him as she wiggled her toes, tall ten of them. "I was lucky."

The remorse returned, slamming into Legolas like an oliphaunt. "Nieriel, I am sorry—"

"Sorry?" She blinked at him, her smile faltering.

He thought she would be angry, so he continued on hurriedly. "For persuading you to go to the Brown Lands, which ultimately led you here—"

"You take blame for this accident?" Nieriel asked, her tone so incredulous. "First of all Legolas, I will have you know, and I am surprised you have not gathered this already, but no one can force me to do anything I do not want to do. It was my _choice_ to go to the Brown Lands with you. It is nothing more than that. Secondly, do you truly think yourself at fault? Nothing could have prevented those orcs from following us; it was the way fate intended things to happen. Who even knows if they were not closer to Lórien than we thought; they could have come from Dol Guldur, or somewhere on the Anduin."

He had not thought of that. He looked at his hands, fidgeting in his lap. "I worried for you," he said softly.

"And yet you stayed away." Her voice was softer, yet his heart stuttered over every syllable.

"I thought you would be cross with me," Legolas said, and he brought his eyes to finally meet her own.

She snorted, such an unladylike sound, yet his heart warmed. She was honestly perplexed when she inquired, "Legolas, you saw me to safety. Why would I be angry with you?"

And just like that, his worry for her, the guilt he had been feeling, the wrath he had been harboring, all slipped away. He smiled brilliantly and then settled back in the chair, tipping his chin toward the book in her hands.

"What did I interrupt you in reading?"

She turned the tome over, offered the cover to him. "_The War of Elves and Sauron._"

"You and your books," he teased, and was rewarded with a smile that rivaled the very light of the moon outside. "What is your favorite kind to read?"

Her smile grew, and Legolas listened as she began to tell him everything she held near and dear about books. How she loved the smell of old pages, and felt a rush of pure intrigue whenever she came across a new one and settled into her favorite chair. She described the wonder and fascination whenever she found a first edition, and told him of the secret stash she had created from the ones she had come across. She told him of her own library in her room, of Elrond's, and how she would spend hours getting lost in the tales she uncovered. She exuberantly explained of the battles she had read about, from the First Age and Second, and the lands she still wished to see one day. She began flipping through the volume in her lap, reading choice passages or sharing a picture. And Legolas realized that, in this moment, in this very space of time, he had never been quite so happy in all his long years of life.

* * *

A mere three days later, as the sun began to set and the moon rose over the Misty Mountains, Nieriel stood beside Aragorn as Elladan and Elrohir saddled borrowed horses, preparing to begin the journey of the Ring once more. The twins were to scout ahead, to discern the best possible path, and as the sun rose on the horizon in the morning to follow the Fellowship would pick up the trail as long as the way was clear of danger. And as they ventured south Nieriel would begin her journey north where she would finally greet her lady and leave the past weeks in memory.

"You will send word to Rivendell if you need aide," Nieriel said, lifting a brow to Elrohir as he climbed atop his horse.

The dark-haired male knew better than to argue; he nodded, though Elladan snorted in rebuke.

"You are barely healed from one wound; so eager for another?"

Nieriel glared, her green eyes darkening. "You will _send word_ if you need aide," she reiterated, and Elladan rolled his eyes as he climbed onto his horse as well.

"Do you think it wise to leave when night is upon us?" Nieriel asked, and not for the first time. She knew the twins were superb trackers, excelled at espionage, could decimate any foe, and would cover more ground overnight, but she worried anyway. She shifted the weight from her injured leg to her good one in restlessness; the wound on her leg had sealed, the poison gone from her body, but it still pained her if she were on it too long. "Why do you not leave with the sunrise and the others can follow around midday?"

"We cannot delay this any longer," Aragorn said, and Nieriel crossed her arms over her chest in disapproval though she knew he spoke the truth. "With the storms abated, we need to start the journey south."

Displeasure coursed through her, a prickling sense of dread tingling along her spine. There had been news of small attacks here and there, but Galadriel had gotten word from Elrond that Saruman's amassing army was growing to astounding proportions, and no doubt for an assault. Dunlendings and mercenaries from the coast were joining his forces, and the White Wizard was spawning orcs and uruk-hai at an alarming rate. Just the other day Haldir and his forces slaughtered a pack of orcs leading a trio of trolls from Moria, the dreaded olog-hai. It had been a bloody battle, where the elf had lost two of his own men.

There was little to no news from Rohan or Gondor, though no one expected much; Men were vain, arrogant, and would not ask for help or give it until it was too late. Strider had not tried to reach out to his comrades for two reasons: he did not expect a warm welcome from the Steward of Gondor and he did not know how his word would be received. However, they did plan to stop at Rohan on their way south, and speak with Théoden and try and garner aide and invoke motivation.

Saruman was not assembling an army for merely intimidation purposes.

"Yes, yes, I know." Nieriel waved Aragorn off with a negligent jerk of her chin, and then lifted Elladan's bow to him. "Just be safe, will you?"

"And the same to you. You have a long ride ahead." Elrohir chimed in, and Nieriel dismissed him easily.

"I am but a single rider, and the fastest on Middle Earth. I will make it home before you even reach Rohan."

"A single rider is easily overcome, and you are lame with hurt." Elladan interjected, and his horse tossed its head in his eagerness to be off.

Nieriel punched his leg and Elladan laughed, pulling on the reins to drive his horse from her. "I will show you _hurt_."

"Enough." Aragorn said irritably, and Nieriel curled her upper lip at Elladan as he looked down his nose in triumph at her, as a child would. "You will ride through the Field of Celebrant and over the Limlight, through The Wold and into Rohan. We will meet you between the North and South Undeep. Look for our boats."

"We will ride back and meet you if our route needs to change," Elrohir agreed. "But we will clear the way, and hopefully it will not come to that."

"Sauron is mobilizing more troops from Minas Morgul; Osgiliath will be overrun in a matter of weeks, if not days. Saruman is gathering aide to Isengard, his forces tripling with every day that passes." Galadriel glided down the stairs of the dais, holding the shimmering folds of her golden gown in slender hands. She came to a stop at the bottom, and clasped her hands together before her. "You would be wise to stay far from Mordor, yet further from the mountains. You do not want to trigger his army of thousands when there will only be ten of you."

"Stay together and stay true." Celeborn intoned from behind his wife, a hand resting upon her slim shoulder. "And know that danger lurks in every corner, around every bend."

"Be safe, for you are dear to me," Galadriel said softly to her kin, and both Elladan and Elrohir bowed their heads to her. "Now ride swift."

Elrohir turned his mount, who danced with eagerness to be off. He nodded down at Nieriel and paused a moment more to speak to Strider while Elladan peered down at Nieriel, his grey eyes dark, like a summer storm rolling over the mountains.

"I will see you soon," he told her, and his once jovial voice sounded hard, with a note of forlornness that she too felt. His own mount was jostling, eager to be on his way. "In all seriousness Nee, take it easy. Rest when you reach Rivendell."

She did not like his domineering tone and told him as such. "I do not like this overbearing side of you, Elladan. I am fine and will recover fully in a few days' time."

"But you and I both know the more strain you put on that leg, the longer those days will be." Nieriel glared, and he held up his hands in defeat. "All right! I am finished."

He lowered his hands, but he did not prepare to leave as so expected of him; truly, he was oblivious to the fact that his brother was waiting on him to finish so they could ride out. Nieriel noticed, felt suddenly awkward that all eyes were trained on the two of them. Yet Elladan only looked to her, and his grey eyes had lightened, his brow becoming soft.

"I worry for you."

"You needn't," she replied, shifting uncomfortably on her slippered feet. She suddenly felt hot, as if flames licked her chest, her neck, though the gentle wind of the evening was cool, almost bitter. She shifted her weight again, this time to her wounded leg, yet the unpleasant rush of fire within her grew mountainous.

"Nothing will ever change that Nee." Elladan told her, and his words so gentle astonished the unease right out of her. Had Elladan ever spoken to her in such a tone, wearing such a face? He looked as though he was pain, his lips pursed, his brow low, and his jaw hard. Yet his eyes, his iridescent grey eyes were filled with warmth, with something Nieriel could not name. Perhaps it was hope? Or yearning?

The moment was fleeting. He straightened, gripping his reins tightly in gloved hands as he cleared his throat. "Stay from harm, and give Arwen my love." He kicked his horse, and in another fleeting moment he and his brother were gone.

Nieriel watched them disappear down the fosse with the cry of the elven horn to escort them. She frowned lightly, with her head turned to one side, as strange thoughts and unfamiliar sentiments swirled through her mind.

"Let us go to supper." Aragorn bid, sweeping past her to head for the stairs.

Nieriel shook her head lightly and turned to face the great capital once more, dispelling her musings as easily as they have overtaken her.

She caught up with Strider as he took the stairs, her plain, beige linen gown grasped tightly in her hands. _That will be me come the morrow. I need to focus on my route. Perhaps I can discuss it with Aragorn?_

With Galadriel and Celeborn murmuring softly to one another up ahead, Nieriel fell into stride with the ranger. "I had planned to try for the High Pass. That seems to be the least cumbersome of all the ways. At least for a single rider."

Strider nodded, though his eyes were focused on the floor, his brow low and hard in thought. His posture was rigid, with his hands clasped behind him at the base of his back, white-knuckled with strain he would not speak of. Nieriel had an inkling to where his thoughts had turned and she lowered her voice to ask, "Would you have me give a message to Arwen?"

Aragorn jerked, his steps slowing. Nieriel barely perceived his lips thinning and his shoulders tightening, yet he did not say anything to her, refused to respond. His gaze flickered to Nieriel before he picked up the pace once more, the cease so fleeting.

Her utterance was something she had thought about for days now, especially when she had been confined to the bed because of her leg. This may be the last chance that Aragorn had at righting his wrongs with Arwen, and though she had been shut down numerous times Nieriel wanted to give him the opportunity to maybe think about changing his mind; if he would but take it! She did not know what coerced her to drive him so, but there was a part of her that felt dismayed leaving when things between the couple were still unraveled.

Yet his response ignited ire within her. Her frustration with her injury, the impending doom of Middle Earth, and the approaching separation from the Fellowship spilled out of her and crashed toward Aragorn. Nieriel narrowed her eyes, leveling him with a nasty glare; she did not like to play games and would not now. "Would you like me to pass on a message to Arwen?" she asked again, her tone loud and demanding, daring him to ignore her once more.

"No." Aragorn clipped, and that was all he said.

"Aragorn," He quickened his pace, his heavy boots falling so loud against the wooden floor, but Nieriel would not be deterred; she hastened as well, though the change in pace caused her wound to ache. "It has been weeks. You have been silent about the ordeal, but I will not so readily believe that Arwen means so little to you."

Aragorn remained unforthcoming, yet Nieriel noticed he brought his hands to his sides and flexed his fingers, splaying them as if for patience. Again. Once more.

"You pine for her, it is plain to see. Stop this foolishness." Nieriel continued to pester, and she knew he was reaching his limit. "Whatever Elrond has said to you, he did not mean. He would never scorn a love like you and Arwen share; it is much like his affair with Celebrían. And you are like another son to him. He merely worries for Arwen and you cannot blame him that. He wants what is best for her and he knows that is in you. He is pushing you so you can convince yourself."

"I will speak of this no more." Aragorn's tone was like gravel, and warned Nieriel to silence.

She pursed her lips, but tried once more. "Reach out to her. Quell the need within you."

Never brash, always calm and collected Strider, opened his mouth in what Nieriel knew to be a barb that would sting. "What do you know of—" However he stopped himself, clamping his lips shut. He drew in a long breath through flaring nostrils, his chest expanding to enormous proportions in his need to remain calm, to keep his temper in check. "No, Nieriel. I have told you time and time again, and will only repeat it once more: it is finished."

Nieriel felt her heart quiver, and then wilt in the sadness that suddenly fell over her like a cold shadow. The bitterness fell in a rush, and it _hurt, _worse than any injury she had ever sustained.

_I pain for them as if it were mine own to bear._

Her heart seemed to slow its beats as the breath left her in a slow rush, and her steps faltered. _Finished. _Aragorn kept walking, did not slow, and Nieriel watched him with eyes full of disbelief, her fists clenched at her sides. His shoulders were so rigid they trembled, his spine as stiff and straight as the wall he had built around his heart.

_It cannot be. I refuse to believe it._

Because the sadness she felt within her own heart, so palpable that it took her breath, was nothing compared to what she sensed from Aragorn.

* * *

Regardless of the way Nieriel or Aragorn felt, the day of departure was on them. The sun rose as it always did, yellow and bright and bringing with it the chiming of the birds that had not flown south for the winter. The yard before the keep was aflutter with activity, with wares being stored in packs and then those packs hefted onto shoulders, with people bustling all about. Galadriel and Celeborn were present, overseeing the commotion, with Haldir speaking to Aragorn of the path he was to take, and what the activity in the fields had been overnight.

Nieriel was strapping the rest of her belongings to her own borrowed mount, dressed in her brown riding leathers and a fresh tunic of green. Her tall, brown boots had been cleaned and her breeches of buckskin were fresh, a simple gift from Celeborn. Her knives were strapped to her back and on her person, hidden under her gauntlets and along the insides of her boots. Her hair was pulled back tight in the worn ribbon she always used, with her heavy cloak of storm-grey about her shoulders, clasped by the sapphire brooch she held so dear. Her gloves she slipped on now as she surveyed those around her, her hard eyes narrowed through the morning mist and strengthening sunlight.

"Well I suppose this is it," Nieriel looked down and found Sam standing by her side, his thumbs hooked in the pockets of his pants. He wore a cloak of viridian around his shoulders, a sturdy one like Nieriel's own that had been gifted to him by Galadriel, one to match the rest of the hobbits. He was also bundled in a jacket, thick breeches, and tunic against the bitter February air, but as always his bushy feet were bare. Under his arm he had tucked a small box in which Galadriel had gifted him soil from her own gardens; when he returned home and planted using the treasure his own greens would grow richly and in abundance.

He smiled up at her then, a crooked yet very sad smile. "We go our separate ways."

The discomfort Nieriel was beginning to feel more and more lately magnified in her chest, so much so that her hand twitched to raise and avail herself of it. "Yes," she replied, meeting Sam's large, round brown eyes.

"I cannot thank you enough for looking out for us, especially Mr. Frodo," Sam continued, and his words confused Nieriel. "He is under a lot of stress you know, with the Ring and all."

"What are you talking about? I have done nothing."

Sam blinked. "But you saved us from them orcs in the fields. And the wargs too! You stayed up after all of us went to sleep to keep watch. You scouted all over the place while we sat around and ate. You hid us from crebain and rescued Sting for Frodo. And I will never forget the way you fought those orcs in Moria! I cannot wait to tell my old gaffer."

Nieriel felt heat on her neck, and a thick lump lodged in her throat. She dipped her head and cleared her voice of the obstacle, though the feeling in her chest intensified. Was it sadness?

"You do not have to thank me," she said, turning toward her horse to avoid Sam's deciphering gaze. "It is nothing."

"On the contrary," Frodo's voice rang out then, and slowly, dreadfully, Nieriel turned to find all four hobbits standing there, looking at her with various faces of gratitude and heartfelt happiness. "I am convinced that if it were not for you, Nieriel, we would have been much worse off."

"Aye, your presence was much appreciated." Pippin chirped, rocking happily on the soles of his feet. His belt flashed silver up at her, the clasp gold and pure, the ensemble matching Merry's; both were a gift from Galadriel.

Nieriel stared at all four of the hobbits, watching her with smiles on their faces. She looked from Frodo's wide blue eyes and softened smile to Pippin's grinning gaze, from Merry's jubilant expression to Sam's raised brow.

She was at a complete loss of words.

"Maybe when this is all over we will see you again!" Pippin said happily, and some of the cherubic expressions wilted.

"She's an elf, Pip. She'll be leaving for the Undying Lands with Lady Arwen." Merry nudged at Pippin, and Pippin frowned at her.

"Is that it then, is that your plan?"

Uncertainty pinged inside Nieriel's chest, but she ignored it. "Whatever is Arwen's will is my own."

_But what I would not give to stay, and face the enemies that so surely deserve a swift death at mine own hands!_

"Well in any case, I hope we meet again." Pippin told her, his grin radiant. "You were fun to have around!"

Nieriel blinked. "_Fun_?"

"Aye! You weren't so bad as everyone said!" Pippin said, and Nieriel raised a brow as a smile twitched at her lips. "You're like a pumpkin. You have a tough exterior, but it is the inside where the good stuff is. And there is a lot to you."

Never in her life had she heard such a strange analogy. Nieriel tipped back her head and laughed, and all of the hobbits joined in with her. She dropped to her knee before them, placing a hand on Pippin's shoulder.

"If ever there was a hobbit that I would not mind to have around, it might be you Pippin." She ruffled his unruly brown hair and looked at Merry then. "Keep him in line, will you? He has caused enough trouble."

Merry snorted. "Understatement of the century."

"Hey now!"

They laughed again, and Nieriel turned to Frodo. She smiled at him and he at her, their sentiments shared without any words needed. _Stay strong, Frodo. You have taught me to have faith in you. And cherish the gift Galadriel has given you: the star of Eärendil. Amid the darkest times it shall be your light, and it is not a gift so freely given._

She stood then and turned at last to Sam. She threw the rest of her caution to the wind in favor of a more heartfelt message; truly, why stop now? She placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. "I will miss your cooking. Perhaps on the way back you can stop at Rivendell and fix supper?"

Sam blushed from his toes all the way up to his hairline. He coughed into his fist before he said, "You liked it that much?"

Nieriel smiled and released her hold. "There is nothing quite like roasted squirrel prepared by Samwise Gamgee."

"Come now!" Boromir suddenly called from next to Aragorn. He was looking over at them, and held up their packs as a beckoning. "We have to take to the road!"

"Go on then." Nieriel said softly, ushering the hobbits away. They departed slowly, looking back at her with hope, happiness, and a subtle tinge of fear. They smiled though, waving gaily, and Nieriel raised a hand to return the gesture, her heart suddenly heavy.

_I understand now that Gandalf _meant _for them to be a part of this. _She watched as they helped each other don their satchels, Sam's clanging with all his pottery. _They are so pure of heart, like he said, and it will be _harder _for them to be corrupted, which I once thought to be so untrue. They know nothing but kindness and happiness. They would not be so easily overtaken by evil._

_ I can do no more than wish them all the luck and hope that I have to offer._

She caught Boromir's eye then and shared a long look with him. She narrowed her eyes, a silent warning, and he turned away abruptly, as if pained.

_And he would mind best to stay clear of them._

"Well lassie, I suppose this is farewell!"

Nieriel glanced down once more to find Gimli standing next to her, his battle axe strapped securely to his back. His was prepared to leave, bolstered by his own leathers and thick clothing, yet an elven cloak rested about his shoulders. Nieriel could not help but smile. _Not so bad then, Master Dwarf? And what of the gift that you so asked for: a strand of hair from Galadriel? She bequeathed you three, and the promise of gold without the damning fire greed can bring._

"I cannot wait to be less an elf," he continued, and Nieriel raised a slender brow. "Two too many, if you ask me."

"And if I remember correctly, no one has. In fact, I think it is safe to say that no one ever will." Nieriel replied teasingly, and Gimli boomed his laughter, his belly shaking with it.

"Ah, a harpy's tongue for sure!" Gimli slapped his knee, shaking his head so his burly beard swayed.

"I would thank you, Gimli," Nieriel said then, the sincerity in her voice true. "For saving my life."

"Twice, if I do recall."

She narrowed her eyes. "Twice."

Gimli grinned, his yellow teeth shining from behind his red beard. "Think nothing of it, lassie. All in a dwarf's work."

"Watch after them." Nieriel beseeched of him softly, and looked up as Aragorn approached. Gimli nodded and moved away, leaving them alone.

"The High Pass then." At Nieriel's nod, Strider stated sourly, for the ideal did not appeal to him, "I suppose there is no other option for you."

"And you are to take boats down the Anduin; the quickest way, I suppose. Keep your eyes open, Strider. You know the dangers of those waters," Nieriel replied, and Aragorn nodded in turn. He wore a new sheath at his waist, a gift from his host, and his own elven cloak was pinned with a silver broach that held a clear green stone, the Elfstone of the house of Elendil, Aragorn's noble line. Nieriel knew not why Galadriel had gifted Aragorn with such a treasure, because such an heirloom was usually a gift to celebrate matrimony. Whatever the case, Nieriel was sure that the Mistress of Magic had her own mind with such things; perhaps it was one of her cryptic ways of foretelling the future?

_But I will not be here for that._

"Please Nee, be you careful." Aragorn implored, his hard tone soft and urgent. "You are dear to all of us, but most of all to me."

Nieriel waved him away, yet her chest heaved with a deep-seated aching. "I will be fine."

"Stay off that leg as much as possible. Here is some lavender to help soothe it if it becomes irritated." He handed her a small pack, and she graciously accepted it. "I wish there would be a way to send word when you reach Rivendell. Perhaps you can send a bird to Rohan? We will eventually stop there."

"Aragorn I will make it home." Nieriel told him surely, stowing the pack in the sporran at her waist. "You need not worry."

"Of course I worry. You are my kin." Aragorn told her, and the ache in her chest opened wide, bleeding her feelings into the cavity where her heart was stowed.

_Kin… _The dust must have picked up in the yard, for Nieriel's eyes suddenly burned. She stepped away, grappling for her horse's reins, yet Aragorn's gloved hand on her arm stilled her.

"Ride swift, Nee. I give you all of the hope I yet possess; _ù-chebin estel anim_."

Nieriel looked up at Strider and felt the anguish rolling off of him, so chilling it rattled her bones. They stared at each other like that for a long moment before Aragorn released her arm and stepped away, though his eyes never wavered from her form. Strong. Steadfast. True. A friend, through all time. Nieriel wanted suddenly to apologize for causing strife between them. Strider had enough to worry about, as did she, and to rankle him as she had yesterday had not sat well with her overnight. But what to say?

As the swell of too many damning emotions became nearly unbearable, Nieriel turned to face her horse. Yet she paused, a hand on the pommel of the saddle. She looked over her shoulder and said, "You will watch over the hobbits?" Her eyes flickered to them, where Boromir was helping Frodo with his pack. She lowered her voice as she brought her gaze back to Aragorn and said, "I do not trust him, Aragorn."

Aragorn looked at Boromir, a frown forming, and then back to Nieriel. "Why do you say that?"

Nieriel glanced at Boromir again, who was laughing as Pippin nearly tipped from the weight of his pack. "Greed drives him."

Aragorn knew better than to refute Nieriel's inklings, yet he looked unconvinced. Still, he nodded. Appeased, Nieriel turned once more to face her horse.

"Ah, but you forgot one goodbye."

She paused, glancing over her shoulder to slowly watch Aragorn turn, his cloak swirling, to reveal Legolas.

And breath left her then.

He stood smiling, highlighted by the bright colors of the morning sky. His pale hair was illuminated golden and his blue gaze shimmered like the ice that took the falls in winter as he gazed at her. Hips lips were upturned slightly, his own cloak billowing in the chill morning air. His bow was strapped proudly to his back, his short sword at his hip, and he looked clean and bright, so handsome, _so unfathomably handsome, _as he stood looking at her as if she were the only person in the world.

Nieriel dropped her arm and moved to face Legolas as he stepped closer to her, the distance between them not five paces. His arcing brows taunted her with a look that said _I-caught-you_ as his smile spread slowly into a grin, revealing even white teeth.

_I will miss that smile, _Nieriel thought, and so suddenly did it seize her that she could not rebuke it, or the thoughts to follow.

_I will miss his smile and his laugh. The way he sought me out, the reasons his own. I will miss his conversations, his clever wit, his teasing words. I will miss the way we shared our thoughts, both silly and serious, how we fought side-by-side. I will miss it all._

_ I will never see him again._

"Actually, I was trying to avoid you," Nieriel said, and the words were true, but her tone was light, taunting.

Legolas lifted a single brow. "I know you do not mean that. After all the times we have had?"

Nieriel shrugged, as much brushing off his words as the growing feeling of agonizing discomfort within her chest. It was beginning to hurt to breathe, and she suddenly knew why.

_I am going to miss them all._

"You have all you need then?" Legolas asked, his look of playfulness melting into one of solemnity. His eyes roved her packs, those on her horse and on her person. "All of your books?"

"Thanks to you, I am not missing a one." Nieriel replied, and the smile she offered him was pained at best. She dipped her eyes to her booted feet, suddenly feeling more awkward than when she had first met him, and the silence between them grew protracted.

_This is not your life anymore; you will return home to Arwen, and then most likely the Undying Lands. Forget this, push their faces from your mind. _The wall she had built around her heart and soul, which protected her from feeling at all and that her companions had so easily toppled, she began to erect once more. The sentiments of hurt and longing she so greedily let consume her she smothered with resolve. She would not let the pain of her departure affect her; she could not afford it. She had to be sharp and prepared for the journey ahead, cold and calculating if she were to return as safe as she had started out. She would do well to remember what was at stake, and what it would cost her if she were not diligent.

She inhaled a deep breath and raised her eyes as the words quickly rushed out of her, "I will not forget all you have done for me, Legolas. I thank you for being an unfaltering ally in these trying times."

Legolas frowned, as if he sensed she were trying to rebuild the wall with her steady, faceless words. "I would hope that you would call us more than allies, Nieriel."

Her heart leapt, the hope it shed so blinding. Nieriel locked it back beneath its skeletal cage, refusing to acknowledge it or any other clamoring emotion she may be feeling.

"Friends then," she said. Her words were firm, and the wall became a little higher. _That is right; because there can and will never be anything more._

_ He is a prince. You are a peasant. He would never desire someone so broken, so battered as you. He has a kingdom to offer, and you? Nothing._

_ Do not forget that._

"Friends," Legolas repeated, and he looked as though the word tasted sour in his mouth.

The pain in her chest intensified. Nieriel turned toward her horse, her throat burning with the screams reverberating through her mind, begging to be released in some way. She ignored them, swinging onto the saddle and pulling at the reins to her mount.

"Goodbye Legolas," she said, refusing to glance down at him as his eyes, which no longer glimmered, slowly tracked her every move.

His smile was dim. "Goodbye Nieriel."

She turned her horse toward the fosse with shaking hands, ready to dig her heels into his sides. She caught Galadriel's eye mid-turn and she paused, locked in the moment. The lady was smiling, her pale features so soft, yet as she peered at Nieriel her eyes traveled slowly to where Nieriel knew Legolas still stood, watching her. Nieriel refused to follow the trail and instead finished the turn, her heart thundering, her blood like lightening in her veins.

_No more, Nieriel._

The horse pranced as she gazed toward the rising sun, knowing that the journey ahead was to be a long and trying one, but rewarding in the end.

_I am coming Arwen, _she thought, and the overwhelming, suffocating sadness threatened once more. Her wall got higher. _I will be home soon._

She pulled the reins tight, preparing to lower herself over her horse's neck.

A hand suddenly appeared, tightening around the leather reins to still her.

Nieriel looked down and met Legolas's eyes, and a thousand emotions, ones that she could not allow herself to see or hear or reciprocate, spilled from their depths.

"I would hope to see you again," he said so softly, she was not sure she heard him. Her eyes locked on his mouth before she looked back into his eyes, for they were telling her more things than his lips ever would.

The hope in her flared once more, and her lips betrayed her solid mind and instead spoke the words within her heart.

"Perhaps one day."

A moment longer, and then she tore her gaze away.

"Heyah!" She kicked her mount and the beast leapt with a cry, and she tore out of the courtyard as though all the enemies of Mordor were on her tail.

Though it was only her shadow.

* * *

_**AN: **_So at the last minute I split this chapter up. And then I put it back the way I found it. It's a really long one (to perhaps make up for the fact that I suck at updating every week like I said I would), but it didn't feel right splitting it up. So there you have it! Hopefully it was worth the read, and your eyes aren't bleeding too badly.

As always, I apologize for not being timely with the update. I have no excuses, but I will endeavor to be more diligent (hopefully that doesn't sound like I'm beating a dead horse, but something tells me it is...) in the future.

Thank you all for your kindness! I try to respond to all the reviews, but if I haven't please don't feel left out or unappreciated. You ALL are what keeps me going! You are absolutely and individually fabulous for your continued support and I couldn't be more humbled, proud, or honored.

_xox - ithilbereth_

Translation

_ù-chebin estel anim: "_I have kept no hope for myself"


	17. Chapter 17: A New Chapter

**Chapter Seventeen: A New Chapter**

Bitter winds and barren landscapes were Nieriel's only companions on her journey home. She traveled by the dim sparkle of the moon with his starlight counterparts or the glowing radiance of the sun, keeping time by their rises and falls. The days were long and barely warm, yet the nights were longer and ever cold. The lands whipped by in a blur; fields riddled with snow, foliage naked and writhing, hills and mountains rolling in her wake.

She traveled through the nights and rarely stopped during the day; she only slept when she was too exhausted to carry on, pushing her mount to his very limits. She ate little and stopped to tend her wound or herself only when she absolutely needed to. And ever was she vigilant, watchful of the earth around her. Blissfully her path remained clear, though once she thought she spotted a troop of foes far, far in the distance. Thankfully she had been downwind and they did not spy her in return.

She was home a little outside a week's time, and cantered into the courtyard in Rivendell weather-beaten and exhausted one late February afternoon. No matter how she felt though, she was exceedingly exuberant about seeing Arwen and Elrond, as well as the others she had left behind.

She jumped down from her sweating, foaming charger, relinquishing her reins to a stablehand. She paused, a gracious hand patting her exhausted horse, as she gazed at the Main House, her body slowly, yet instantly, relaxing.

_I am home. _She smiled softly, taking in the white façade of the great house, the towering trees, the tinkling of the falls not so powerful as they usually were because of the ice that incased them. She looked over the barren trees, swaying softly in the afternoon breeze, over the bell tower looming beyond the house, and the cliffs which circled the vale. All was bathed in the low orange light of the setting sun, almost completely shrouded by the Misty Mountains. _I am home._

She looked back toward the Main House and frowned slightly when she noticed not one person had come to greet her. The horn had sounded, beckoning her arrival, and Elrond always appeared at its call. And surely they were home, for where else would Elrond and Arwen be? She began her stride toward the stairs, only a slight limp to her step. _I was not able to send word, but I know Arwen is here, _she thought, taking the stairs, leaving mud in her wake. She was absolutely filthy for she had never stopped to fully bathe, had only splashed water over her face once, maybe twice. Nothing had mattered more than getting home to Imladris.

And leaving everything else in the past.

An attendant opened the door for her as she passed, bowing his head but refraining from saying anything in greeting. Nieriel's frown deepened as she turned right, towards the East Wing of the manor where both her and Arwen's room lay. The foyer was dimly lit, the statues cast in shadow by the scones that burned yellow, yet low on their wall perches. Nieriel perceived a sense of forlornness in the air and her steps slowed as foreboding suddenly shadowed her, replacing her jubilance, and her tranquility soured to rigid trepidation.

Her voice was firm as she called out, "Arwen?"

There was no reply.

_They should be here. They would not leave me. _Nieriel thought, her heart beginning a trot, a canter, and then a frantic gallop. Her breaths, labored with fatigue and now dread, sloughed out of her like razors.

_Something is wrong._

She quickened her pace, suddenly hurrying down the hall. Her braid swished as she jogged, turning corners, passing darkened tapestries. The forlornness grew to overt, suffocating sadness, the foreboding to outright fear. What had happened? _Where is Arwen?_

She turned down the last hall that would lead her to Arwen's room, and promptly ran into Elrond. She hastened back and forgot herself, her pride, her manners when instead of bowing and apologizing she demanded, "Where is Arwen?"

Elrond's face grew grave, so dark that the sconces did not dare to try and illuminate his features. "Arwen is ill."

* * *

Nieriel looked up from her book to the gentle sway of the door as it parted. A maid of the house appeared, and Nieriel lifted a finger to her lips to quiet her, and the maid dipped her head in response. Nieriel closed her book and laid it on the bedside table as she stood, her gown barely ruffling as she stepped away from the chair and toward the door. The maid swept soundlessly toward the hearth where she would rekindle the low flames, and Nieriel watched her briefly before disappearing into the hall, the door swinging softly shut behind her.

Elrond was there, his towering frame unmoving. "How is she?" he asked, his hands clasped before him, swallowed by the gaping sleeves of his scarlet robes.

"The same," Nieriel replied softly, meeting Elrond's eyes. They shared a silent moment then, asking each other to lend patience, determination, and merely a handful of hope that their beloved Arwen would see herself through this.

However, her prognosis was poor.

* * *

_"Ill? What do you mean, ill?" Nieriel demanded, once the world had stopped spinning and her breath had not felt as though it was being ripped from her in horrible, gasping pulls._

_ "She has forsaken her immortality, to remain here when her people leave. In her weakened state she has grown ill, as sorrow plagues her soul."_

She is dying from sorrow? _Nieriel thought, the notion so outrageous to her, for she did not understand such sentiments. The thought that one would allow emotions to render them to weakness…_

But I had known it would come to this, did I not?

_ As Nieriel looked to Elrond, into his pleading eyes so lost with despair it chocked her, she did not have to question why Arwen lay as she was._

_ She knew the answer even before she had left home._

Because of Aragorn.

* * *

_Perhaps that is why I had been so loathe to leave, _Nieriel pondered now, her eyes trickling to the green linen folds of her gown, to her slippered feet, her twining hands. _I knew no good would come from this._

_ But I went anyway._

The guilt had been blinding. It still was, but Nieriel was learning to see through her pain, through her own self-hate, for Arwen needed her more than she needed to chastise herself. But at night, as she sat in the chair by Arwen's bed watching over her, she constantly wondered if Arwen would be in the state she was now if Nieriel had stayed. A part of her knew it had been inevitable, yet another part of her still wished she had been here. _Perhaps I could have made a difference._

"She ate some soup, a piece of bread, but nothing more," Nieriel quietly told Elrond, her voice low as to not wake Arwen. "We took a walk today, but it was not more than ten minutes. She fell asleep shortly after we returned."

Elrond grimaced and said nothing. He glanced toward the door, his eyes so haunting. "She has improved since you have been home, but I fear there is not more that can be done. I have tried everything within my knowledge, have consulted others with more power than I."

_Because there is only one who can take away her sorrow. But he is hundreds of miles away, with no hope, no thoughts of returning here ever again, _Nieriel thought, and she knew Elrond recognized this as well, albeit he remained in denial of the entire situation. He actually thought he could convince Arwen to Aman; Nieriel knew that would never happen.

_ Arwen will never board those ships so long as Aragorn remains here._

"She should have never been brought to this point," Elrond snarled, and Nieriel startled at the tone of his voice. Since her return he had been so calm, so steadfast. Never once had he shown any sort of anger or rebuttal at Arwen's state; indeed had been nurturing, hardly leaving her side. Yet Nieriel sensed anger from him now, so hot it threatened to burn.

"It is because of Aragorn that she lies there in this state. It is because of him that the blackness of death is a shadow at our door, waiting to traipse in. It is because of _him _that she thinks she has nothing more to live for." Elrond all but spat, his words like venom. "Does she not understand that she has us, who would not so readily leave her side?"

Nieriel knew his anger, had shared it vehemently when she had first returned. Her conversations with Arwen had ranged from desperate pleading, to weak arguments, to sadness so thick it had swallowed them whole. Nieriel had begged Arwen to recant her wish, to seek the ships for Aman, but it was through these conversations that Nieriel had come to realize that none of this could have been avoided. Aragorn would have left, despite what anyone else could have and would have said. Arwen would have remained, holding true to her hope, no matter her despair. She had forsaken her immortality the moment Strider turned his back on her, whether she knew it then or not, and there was nothing anyone could do to rectify that.

And now, hand-in-hand with that despair, she would wither, and then perish into the fade.

_A love like theirs I will never understand, _Nieriel thought, and not for the first time.

But she no longer wished to understand it. She only wished Arwen would find the will to live beyond it.

It was a futile yearning.

"There is nothing else that can be done Elrond, beyond wish that Strider can overcome the tasks before him and return to us." _Though not even he has faith in himself. _Nieriel knew this to be true, and the sadness that shadowed her through the week she had been home was beginning to take a toll on her.

She barely ate more than Arwen did. Her days of smiles, laughter, and hours of conversation were gone. She did little outside of care for Arwen; she read to her, slept or watched over her while she did, took walks with her when her strength allowed, or helped her mend clothes or embroider linen. She no longer rode the fields or scouted overnight. She had not seen Stormwind since she had been home; indeed he had made the journey home unaffected, as Nieriel so readily knew he would, but she dared not leave Arwen's side to revel. Her blades went untouched. Her skill grew wane.

Yet none of that mattered anymore.

"He will never return, and if he has yet to realize that he will be king then he never will." Elrond said, and again Nieriel was drawn aback by the heated ire in underlying his tone.

_I thought he had faith in Strider, had been pushing him to recognize his strengths. Perhaps… Was I wrong?_

"I will not stand by and watch my only daughter suffer for much longer. If she will not make the decision to travel to Valinor then I will make it for her."

Nieriel withdrew, recoiling as if she had been bitten by a snake, as the venom of his words struck her. _Only daughter? But what of…_ She pushed away her suddenly aching pain at Elrond's words and instead focused on the conversation.

"Elrond, this was Arwen's _choice_. Whether we agree with, like it, or not."

"A foolish choice. One that I will see rectified."

Nieriel had never heard him so furious. So…lost. The hopelessness she sensed in his words was one she refused to succumb to, yet lingered in her footsteps throughout the days. "She is her own woman. Your daughter she might be, but her love for Aragorn is strong and will remain whether we take her to Aman or not. She would readily die there as she would here."

"She _will not die!_" Elrond seethed, his tone raised. "She will realize her mistake in time; for now, it is imperative she is taken from here."

Nieriel stared at Elrond, at the madness that hinged his tone. "Elrond, you do not understand. She will _never _leave Aragorn. She has chosen to _die_ rather than live without him. The sooner you realize that, the sooner you will realize we are all at impasse. We have little choice left to us."

"There are few ships left, yet I will make sure Arwen is on one of them."

Nieriel's eyes widened; he had spoken as if she had not. He was not even looking at her, instead over her shoulder, gazing at Arwen's door with unfocused eyes. Her voice was a hiss as she asked, "What do you not understand? _She_ _will not leave without Aragorn._ She loves him more than she loves anything in this world. It is a different love than she has for you, for me, or for her friends. It is a greater love, one that I do not understand, but I know you do. Would you not do the same for Celebrían?"

Elrond's eyes flashed to Nieriel and his tone was ugly as he barked, "That is irrelevant!"

"But it is not!" Nieriel insisted, a humorless laugh escaping her. Tears suddenly sprang to her eyes as her hands began to tremble. She felt her neck flush as her face grew pale and her heart quivered, threatening to spill over with sentiments she could not withhold. _Gods, weeks of withholding. _"How can one such as I grasp this situation, when you with all your millennia of knowledge cannot? It is simple, Elrond. Aragorn is her lifeblood, her will to overcome any of which ails her. To be like this is her choice. This is out of our hands. The most we can do for Arwen now is lend her strength, and hope that Aragorn can overcome this seemingly impossible task and recognize who he is meant to be. I have faith that he will, however little that faith may be.

"But I do know this: I will be here for Arwen regardless of anything or anyone. What is her desire will be mine own. I will not coerce her to do something she has not heart for doing, because I know that would pain her more. And you would do well to accept that, Elrond."

Elrond stared at Nieriel, his jaw wound so tight she thought he might break it. His grey eyes flashed black with his anger before he dipped his head, turning from her. With a swirl of his robes he retreated down the hall from whence he came, his enormous frame moving like a wraith. Nieriel watched him until he disappeared, her heart so agonizingly heavy after their conversation.

_I know your pain, Elrond. _Nieriel thought, the tears in her eyes blurring her vision. _It is blinding. It is cloying. It is so unfathomably hard to watch one that you love suffer so._

_ But it is nothing like what Arwen is living with._

* * *

Another week slipped by, the time passing so slowly. March was nigh a week away, and already the weather was warming, melting the snow and stretching the days. Nieriel spent her time much like she had done in the week she had first arrived, and indeed saw an improvement in Arwen's health. The lady was able to stay awake longer, and she had begun to smile here and there. They had even gone for a ride over the fields, though Arwen had quickly tired and asked to return home. Her appetite still waned no matter what Nieriel brought her, her skin no longer glowed with luminance, and her bones stuck out from her frame, stark and chilling.

They never spoke of Arwen's ailing or the cause of it.

Both had accepted that it is what it would be.

They only had their faith in Strider now.

Arwen prayed daily, sending her thoughts to any deity that would listen. News of the Fellowship remained little to none, as did the attacks on Rivendell; it seemed Saruman's and Sauron's attentions were focused south. The remaining elves on Middle Earth trickled out day by day, vacating the halls, their homes, the cities they and their ancestors had inhabited for centuries. Arwen did not speak of leaving and neither Nieriel nor Elrond broached the subject. His mood had lightened and never again did Nieriel see the anger she saw in him that day, and she contributed the calming to Arwen's blooming health, however slow it was.

But there was unrest within Nieriel, even as Arwen got stronger each day. She did not like not knowing what was going on. Her skin itched for the wind upon her flesh and her palms yearned for the weight of her knives. More than once Arwen caught her gazing out the window, south toward the fields she had not long ago traversed. And more than that, Nieriel caught herself thinking of the Fellowship, the beings she had left behind. How did Frodo fare in the wake of the Ring? Had Boromir remained true, or had he turned afoul? She hoped Merry was okay, and Pippin too; she did not realize how much she missed his constant chatter until all she did was sit in silence with Arwen. Even Gimli she admitted she missed, and that was no easy feat. _And Legolas…_

She never let her musings wander there.

_I suppose we would know by now if Mordor had come to power, _Nieriel thought. But how she ached to be there, on the front lines, witnessing it all. She not for one minute regretted her decision to return home, but oh how she wished…

"Please."

Nieriel looked up from her book, her soft braid brushing the tome as her eyes met Arwen's. A nonplussed look stole her features as her eyes widened to the size of the moon when she saw that Arwen was uncommonly pale and her eyes were filled with tears.

"Please," Arwen continued in a voice so broken, so filled with sorrow, that it ripped Nieriel's heart asunder. "Please go to him."

Nieriel's jaw fell open. Closed. Fell open again. She blinked at Arwen, speechless in the wake of the woman before her. The book fell softly into her lap from lax hands.

"I would have you go to him, Nee." Arwen said, and her voice trembled, belying the pain she had been working so hard to stave. "Go back to Aragorn."

Completely and utterly flummoxed, Nieriel gaped at Arwen. Why, they had both been sitting and enjoying the afternoon! "Where did this come from?"

Arwen was trembling, barely perceptively, but she appeared so _fragile_ in this moment. Tears poured from her eyes, trickling down her porcelain cheeks to fall on colorless, parted lips. "Stay with him on this journey, wherever it may take him. I felt better when you were his companion, knowing you both shared in the safety of one another. Now he is alone and you, you are miserable, Nieriel. You look towards the window so often, I know you long to be out there, can see the desire so alive in your eyes—"

"This is not about me!" Nieriel exclaimed, her tone harsh. "It matters naught what I think, what I feel; all that matters is I stay for you!"

Arwen shook her head, her once shimmering hair swaying with her broken movements. "But you are not here, Nee. Your soul, your mind, your being lies elsewhere."

Nieriel ground her teeth together, her nose flaring as she said, "_It does not matter._ Arwen you almost _died_ while I was away, are still very ill! I could never leave knowing you are in this state. Never. And I am safer here than out there!"

"I am begging of you—"

Nieriel shook her head, a sharp negation to Arwen's pleading. "No, no, and no. I will. Not. Leave you. Not now, and never again."

"Nieriel, you cannot spend your entire life with me; that is not your nature. You are too free, too independent to be chained in one place. You live for those fields, with the wind at your back and the promise of battle on the horizon. No, do not deny it; you forget I have listened to your deepest secrets, have spent more years by your side than anyone else, and know you long for a different life even if you will not so readily admit it. Your pride, your sense of duty keeps you here, and in that it has become your tether.

"We each have our own destinies to obtain; yours is not to be found sitting in a rocking chair with a book in your lap any more than mine is to be lying in this bed."

The truth stung; Nieriel's face burned. "What of your uncertainty about me leaving before? You almost changed your mind, and would have if I had not held true."

Arwen looked away, knowing the truth of the statement. "Things have changed, Nieriel. I do not like asking this of you, but I know, for the both of us, that I must."

Nieriel _hated_ cryptic answers, so vague they were infuriating. "No," she said flatly, and would say no more.

"Nieriel," Arwen reached out to her then, and stiffly Nieriel allowed her hands to be clasped. She did not like the way this conversation was going, liked less the coldness of Arwen's hands, and knew that though Arwen was distraught, the tears in her eyes as true as the sentiments in her heart, she knew more that her lady would not sway from the matter. "I know I am sick, and I know that you fear to leave me. But my life belongs to Aragorn's. I saw what could be our future, and if I have but just _one _chance to see it through, I will do anything in my power to help it unfold. I will not fall if he does not. Please, do this for me."

Nieriel's eyes widened slowly. "You have seen…"

Arwen's eyes shimmered, and Nieriel was rendered breathless by the smile that suddenly blossomed onto her features. "A simple vision… But in it I saw a little boy, one that had the soft, laughing features of my Aragorn yet my grey eyes. He was my child, Nieriel, beget of Aragorn. If I could even dream of such happiness, let alone know it is within my reach…"

Nieriel shook her head slowly, her throat thick with emotion. She knew she was losing this battle. "But Arwen, you are _still dying…_ I cannot… I will not…" She bit her tongue, so hard she tasted blood. "Please do not ask this of me. Anything. Anything but this."

Arwen's smile did not falter, even as the tears continued to stream, and the hands that rested upon Nieriel's squeezed with affection. "I will not fall, Nieriel. You must have faith in me with this."

"You can still take the ships," Nieriel said, and her voice sounded so broken, so forlorn, and she knew Arwen could see the tears burning in her eyes. "You can take the ships to Aman and you can get better."

Arwen shook her head slowly and Nieriel saw in her eyes that she would not vacillate. "I would rather share one lifetime with him than face all the ages of this world alone."

Nieriel closed her eyes, bowing her head ever so slightly. A lock of hair brushed her forehead as she bit down on her lip to keep her tears from spilling and her hands would not stop quaking. She knew the love Aragorn and Arwen shared could hardly compare to the love she and Arwen had of one another, as much as she knew that the dispute between them was over, with her the loser.

Still she said, "You have me."

Arwen squeezed her hands again, and Nieriel brought her face up to meet hers. "And I will always have you."

* * *

Nieriel watched as the stablehand brought Stormwind from the stables, the yellow light of the morning sun glinting off of his freshly groomed coat. He pranced with eagerness while his mistress stood still in her lack thereof, pulling on the last of her accoutrements; her gauntlets she tied tightly, her gloves on before those. Her satchels, this time less the books, were already attached to Stormwind; with her she brought a change of clothes, a few more knives, sugar for her steed, and food for herself. She wore various shades of brown, from her boots to her breeches to her tunic, with her Elven cloak of grey upon her shoulders, clasped with the sapphire brooch she always wore. Her hair was pulled back tightly, and it swayed gently with the rolling morning fog as she turned toward the Main House, where Arwen and Elrond stood watching.

* * *

_"You are to leave?" Elrond's grey eyes flew wide, and Nieriel noted the tone of ire his words carried. "You only just returned!"_

_ "Arwen has asked it of me," Nieriel replied, her eyes downcast, for they were alone at the dinner table this night._

_ "This is beginning to sound redundant," Elrond snapped, and Nieriel knew his anger was not focused on her, rather the situation. "We have been here before. There was an agreement between you two and you have fulfilled your terms, and that was the end of it."_

_ "Or so we thought," Nieriel murmured, and Elrond set down his goblet._

_ "I forbid it."_

_ Nieriel sighed. She knew this was to not go well. "My lord Elrond—"_

_ "No. There is nothing else that can be done. The fate of the Ring is in the hands of its wielder, and there is nothing you can do to change the outcome of this war."_

_ "My lord Elrond I am my own woman and I have made the decision to do this."_

_ "You have accomplished all there is for you to do."_

_ "On the contrary," Nieriel knew she had to tread carefully, and tried to remind herself that Elrond did not mean to be so aggressive with her. "I would have to disagree."_

There is more for me to do yet. I realize this now, and am learning that it is all right to embrace that notion rather than deny it.

_ "You would allow her selfish notions to steer you?" Elrond asked incredulously._

Yes, because they so mirror my own_, Nieriel thought, but how to explain her feelings to Elrond? She had not the time to make him understand; she planned to leave tomorrow._

_ "Elrond, I do not belong here, not at this moment. Thought I may not make a vast difference, I know I belong on that field more than I belong sheltered behind these walls. It is not my nature."_

_ Elrond looked as though he wanted to open his mouth to reply, but his eyes flashed and he looked away, his hands curling on the surface of the table. The wind whipped then, snapping the tapestries, causing the candles to jump and writhe._

_ "Arwen has shared with you her vision I am assuming?" Nieriel asked, and she knew by the way Elrond refused to meet her eyes and his jaw shifted that she had._

_ "Then you must know the only hope Arwen now has is for Aragorn to realize he can overcome this, to embrace his heritage, and believe in himself. If I can play a small part in that, and if it is my lady's will, then I will bend everything in my power to see it done."_

* * *

Elrond had left the table without saying another word to Nieriel, and stared past her now with a cold, vacuous look on his face. Arwen stood on the stair beneath him, her hands clasped in the folds of her forest green gown, her russet hair framing her pallid features in soft, swirling waves. She approached her now, and Nieriel watched as she peeled a book from against her bosom, her slender fingers wrapping around the bold red tome.

Nieriel smiled as Arwen offered her the title: _The Queens of the Noldor. _"I can take no books this time; indeed they were cumbersome the last."

The return smile Arwen offered her was sad. "You can fit at least one."

"Do you know what it is like to run from thirty orcs with a satchel of books slapping against your legs?" Nieriel asked with an arched brow.

The laughter that tinkled from Arwen's lips warmed Nieriel's soul. "You will have to tell me someday."

_We did not talk much about that, did we? _Arwen's health had been at the forefront, and Nieriel had not wanted to stress her further. Arwen had inquired, however briefly, at how the journey had gone, but Nieriel had not indulged. Those, she thought then, were memories past.

Now she reached for the book despite her initial refusal and tucked it against her side with loving care. She would take it and cherish it, for _this_ would be a memory past, one of Arwen that she would take with her and hold dear.

For she may never see her again.

It was a notion she was still coming to terms with.

"Please take care of yourself," Nieriel begged of her then, allowing the sentiments she felt to easily bleed through her eyes, in the way she took Arwen's hands in her own. "I can only leave here knowing that you will promise me that."

"I promise you," Arwen said genuinely, her grey eyes alight, sparkling in the morning sun. "I will await your return as intensely as I await Aragorn's."

"I am earnest in this Arwen. You know I do not leave lightly." Her heart was torn in this, and it pained her as she gazed at Arwen now, clasping her hands so tightly.

"I know." Arwen murmured, and then she drew Nieriel in for a hug. Nieriel closed her eyes, wrapping her hands around her shoulders, breathing deeply of the scents of her home, of her dearest friend in her arms.

It was another moment she would take with her and remember in her darkest hours.

"And you must promise to return to me." Arwen drew back then, though her hands lingered on Nieriel's elbows. "Without any new scars."

Nieriel had told her about the one on her leg, but only because Elrond demanded to see it himself, to know that it had been tended to properly; there was no one as skilled in the art of healing such as he. Nieriel could only wish to have an ounce of his skill.

"I will endeavor to do my best," Nieriel replied, and Arwen eyed her as though her response was not good enough.

"You know I cannot promise more than that," Nieriel told her, and Arwen knew the sincerity of her statement; she nodded to acknowledge it, and squeezed Nieriel's hands once more.

Stormwind whinnied, and Nieriel felt him nudge her shoulder from behind in his impatience. The stablehand cursed beneath his breath, and Nieriel smiled at Arwen as she reached back to stroke her horse beneath his forelock. The beast placed his mighty head over her shoulder, and Nieriel reared back to look at him with a stern arch to her brow.

She looked back towards the House when Elrond stepped up and Arwen brushed back to stand before the stairs once more. The stablehand pulled Stormwind back to give Nieriel a moment with her lord as another stepped forth to take the book from her and pack it away in what little room she had left in her satchel.

"Do you know in which direction I should head?" she asked of him, and Elrond looked down at her with a sharp eye, his expression still as unreadable as before.

It was a moment before he replied, and his words were clipped. "Stray from the High Pass. Redhorn will not fare well this time of year, either. And you have said that Moria is overrun."

"The Gap of Rohan it is," Nieriel said, and she did not like the sound of it.

Elrond's countenance soured further. "You would chance Isengard."

"It is the only way," Nieriel said, and they both knew it was true. Any more north or south would take her completely out of the way.

Elrond stared at her, and under his burning gaze Nieriel turned her own to the ground. She knew he thought she was making a mistake as much as he thought her cause was a lost one. But she had to try; for Arwen and for herself. Something kept bothering her, urging her to leave. That if she did not she would regret it for the rest of her days.

"By now they will have ridden unto the Mark," Elrond said, and Nieriel looked back up to him. "You may find them there."

Nieriel nodded and began to turn, knowing she would get no more from Elrond. _Is this to be our goodbye then?_ She reached for the reins to Stormwind and was gifted them by the stablehand, and she grasped the pommel of his saddle with her other hand. She lifted a leg to stirrup and prepared to heave herself into the saddle when she felt a gentle touch to her shoulder.

She paused, and brought her leg back to the earth. She turned to find Elrond behind her, his bitter visage evaporated into not one of vacancy as before, but tender affection. His brow was soft, his eyes, their moonlit color so serene. His hand upon her shoulder was warm and Nieriel gazed up at him in this moment expressing her sorrow, her waning hope, her internal anguish, and her fears with flickering orbs of emerald.

She knew the moment Elrond read her; he pulled her into his embrace, grasping her so tightly to his chest.

"You are my daughter too, Nieriel," he whispered softly into her ear.

Nieriel felt her throat burn, and her heart throbbed in response to his words with an emotion so strong it pained her. She squeezed her eyes shut tight before she pulled herself away, knowing the more she lingered, the harder it would be to leave.

She pulled herself into her saddle and Stormwind sidled, prancing along the courtyard's stones. Nieriel took a swift look around, memorizing the façade of her home: the white stone of the houses, the tinkling of the falls, the subtle sounds of the city waking before her. She gazed at the cliffs of the vale, of the barren trees that waved slowly their goodbyes. And then she allowed herself one more look at her lady and Elrond standing tall beside her. They held each other now, gazing up at Nieriel proud on her steed.

"Think of me," Nieriel told them, and her smile, although radiant, was pained. "I will be home anon."

She did not allow herself to note the tears in Arwen's eyes or the agony so plain on Elrond's face. With her jaw clamped tightly and her fingers wrapped firmly around the reins to still her shaking, she pulled on Stormwind to turn, to face the path that awaited her. She looked up at the smooth, brown road opening up like a book before her, and she was suddenly breathless with a thousand different emotions; excitement, fear, longing, desire, happiness, sadness, pain…

_The book of my life, _she thought as Stormwind tossed his head. _A new chapter begins._

She dug her boots into his flanks to send him off, into the bright light of the sun that had risen above the trees to the east.


	18. Chapter 18: Enlightenment

**Chapter Eighteen: Enlightenment**

The days slipped by, blending into one another. The only difference Nieriel perceived was the change in light; sometimes she rode by the beckoning of the moon and other times she followed the path of the sun. The terrain was the same as those weeks past when she had traveled south with the Fellowship at her side, yet the snow was scarce on the mountaintops and the winds were less cold. She stopped little, even less than before, and was happy for the comfort of her companion in Stormwind; he was much hardier than the destrier she had borrowed from Celeborn and Galadriel, was used to her pushing him past his limits. It was still a lonely journey, a quiet journey, and it became unsettling when she no longer recognized the landscape the farther she traveled south.

She stayed close to the Misty Mountains, hiding in caves when she had to stop and sticking to the shadows during the day. She knew the further south she went the more likely she was to run into trouble, and once or twice she had to hold her breath against the odds. Crebain flew in small groups above the area and warg shrieks could be heard on the wind, but always Nieriel thwarted them, hid from them. She took extra care to blend with her environment; she never bathed, and each morning she rubbed pine bristles into her clothing and over Stormwind to hide their scent. She never built a fire at night, instead huddled against her steed for warmth. She changed her course erratically, traipsing through water when she could. She stayed to high ground, always watchful, always waiting before she had to change position or ride more in the open. And she was lucky, for the tactics seemed to work.

Until she reached Dunland.

She had little memory of this land; it was not a place she traveled to often, even before the time of the War of the Ring. Dunlendings, wild nomads and unorganized herdsmen, roved the acreage that had once been a plentiful and fertile land. It was inhabited now only by those who allied with Saruman, and as much as Nieriel wanted to stay close to the mountains she knew she had to cross through the Gap of Rohan, and to do that would lead her through Isengard. Which had been overtaken by Saruman himself. To go around the mountains in the east would lead her too out of the way.

_I am but one rider, _she kept telling herself. _I can slip through unseen._

She knew, however, that there was a great chance she may not.

The rumors that Saruman had amassed an army of _ten thousand_ had not gone unheard to her ears. One night, as she sat atop a secluded cliff, she watched as a line of them tramped along the North-South road, no doubt headed for the Gap themselves. _All of the thoroughfares have been infested by the enemy, _she thought, her keen eyes easily slicing through the thick of the night. _It is no wonder our alliances are slim._

Still, she pushed on. The days of February bled into March, and she became more cautious the closer she wound her way toward Isengard. She favored the cover of night, for the land here was barren with most of the trees chopped and burned, and orcs and uruk-hai lurked in every corner. She spotted them more and more, mining caves for metal, harvesting the land for their fires. She had to take cover quickly more than once when they appeared overhill, their wargs frothing at the mouth.

_I am a fast rider and can outrun them if I need to…but not fell beasts. Please, let there not be a nazgûl in their midst._

It was the third day of March that Nieriel, under the cover of night, swept down the side of the mountains and into the valley of Isengard. She could see a large, circular wall of rock in the distance, and sprouting from the center of the enclosure stood the stone tower of Orthanc. Through the night the rocks gleamed black, warning her to stay away, to not traipse so close. But she had not a choice; this was the fastest way to the Gap, and she would make it through.

_I only have to follow the river and then I will come upon the Fords, _she thought, her eyes darting around the structure as she descended into the vale.

There were no flickering flames upon the wall, no howls or rumblings of workings. Nieriel found this odd because she knew this evil never slept, but she urged Stormwind on at a cantering pace, hugging every shadow she could find. Her heart hammered wildly in her chest, so loud to her ears, while her palms sweated in her gloves though the night was bitter cold. Her sweat-slicked skin chaffed against her limbs as she rode closer, her eyes honed on any movement, her ears perked for any sound.

Yet there was none.

The only light streaked from the tower, and even that was muted. A single window at the top glimmered orange, a beacon through the night, yet there was nothing more. Nieriel pulled Stormwind to slow as she scented the air; fires had been lit, yet she smelled no smoke. She glanced to her right, to the lands that swept open. There was nothing save the vast fields of Enedwaith, and they held still under the wan light of the moon.

_Something is wrong, _Nieriel thought, kicking Stormwind to gallop once more.

It was too quiet. Too still. There should be troops about, trolls on the wall. Dunlendings and orcs, wildlings and wargs. Yet there was nothing, and beyond the wall Nieriel…only scented water. Thick, roving waves of it, and then a forest. Trees? _Trees within Isengard?_

Confusion roiled within her. She never tore her eyes from the fortress as she cantered nearer, though her senses were on high alert. There was no movement from the field beyond, and nothing from within. _This is not right, _she thought, galloping nearer the mouth of the keep. She had to cross before it and doing so would put her directly in harm's way. But there was no other way about it. _I knew this before I set out._

"Prepare to ride hard, Stormwind." Nieriel told her charger, and he snuffed his response.

Lying low on along his neck, Nieriel kicked his sides. She opted for skirting the structure as much as possible, yet there were no cliffs, no mountains to hide her before its looming façade. But to stick nearer the structure was folly, for they could lay siege with arrows and she would be lost. Entrusting her cover to her cloak and the swiftness of her steed, Nieriel sent a quick prayer to the gods and whispered, "_Noro lim, _Stormwind."

He took off so quickly she grappled to stay on his back, his heels kicking up rocks and plumes of dust. Nieriel scanned the way ahead, to the line of the river waiting for her, but could not keep herself from glancing at Isengard, at its tall black walls and ominous ebon tower. Though she was far out of range of any weapon lest she be seen, the keep looked so large, looming monstrously against the backdrop of the mountains. Its gates gaped wide, and the faster she rode the closer she traversed toward the opening and the more the innards of Isengard became apparent.

Nieriel felt her hands grow slack, the tension she had been harboring so suddenly leaving her body as her eyes took in the scene before her.

Isengard was dead.

She pulled Stormwind to slow, and then to stop. She knew the idiocy of her actions, yet could not help it. She stared open-mouthed at the sight before her.

The fortress lay in ruins. Down in the belly of the valley it was flooded with water, no doubt from the Angren River which lie so close. Where Saruman's army had been birthed there was nothing but destruction: towers had been felled, the deep holes where orcs were bred had been drowned with water. The Orthanc was dim, and there were no beings about, not a one. Though there were _trees_ scattered about, and if Nieriel was not mistaken, not lost within a dream, they _moved_, and not just with the breeze.

_Something is indeed wrong. And I would be a fool to linger here any longer._

She kicked Stormwind and he whinnied before leaping into a gallop once more. She waited for her sudden movement to cause a stir, for the dust she had roused to upend a ruckus. She kept her eyes ahead, her breaths shallow, and dared not look over or behind. Yet the closer the mouth of the river loomed, the harder she urged Stormwind, the more she realized that there was still silence around her, and no movement save her own.

_Do not press your luck, girl_, her conscience chided. _Head for the Gap and do not look back._

* * *

Bedraggled, weathered, and exhausted beyond any measure, Nieriel guided Stormwind up the hill toward the towering city of Edoras two days after her excursion through Isengard. It was past noon and the sun was bright and warm, though the wind whipped bitterly over grassy green lands and white rocky crags. The stout wooden gate that surrounded the capital of Rohan was proud, notched with the standard of the Rohirrim and guards that harkened her arrival with a short blare of a horn and a shout to open the great double doors.

_I have made it, _Nieriel thought, finally allowing herself the serenity of feeling safe. _By the gods, I have made it._

The ride over the Mark had been a treacherous one, and Nieriel was surprised she made it to Edoras in such short time for she had barely known the way. She had come across no enemies once she had crossed into the West Emnet, and though the notion perturbed her she would not wallow in the unknown; she took her luck for face value. She had followed the Angren until she had come upon the North-South road, which proved to be her best guide to the towering city of Edoras. The thatched roofs of the homes and fluttering pennants upon the steadfast ramparts beckoned her a shelter and safety from her travels after over a week of relentless riding, little food, and even less rest.

_I hope the Fellowship is here, _she thought as she passed through the gate and into the busy city. _For I do not know if I will find friend or foe without them in this place._

She was stopped by a trio of guards who did not point their spears at her in leering disdain, however looked up at her with hard, unwavering stares and grim-set lips.

"Who goes there?"

"I am Nieriel of Rivendell," she called down from her mount. _Gods, but I hope those words do not damn me. _"I come seeking the shelter of Edoras and the council of your king."

A flare of surprise passed between the guards, and they studied her a long while before turning to look at one another. Nieriel was suddenly aware of the aches of her body; the way her backside throbbed and her hands were numb. The way her shoulders, so tense, rubbed against the leather of her sheaths, and her legs tingled, trembled in her exhaustion. And she knew she looked a sight; she was covered in dust and dirt, streaked with sweat, her hair a tangled mess and her clothes nearly ruined…and yes, the men could probably smell her from where she sat.

But it seemed her luck from her journey followed her now. The guards parted and one called, "We will send word of your arrival."

Nieriel nodded her head in gratitude and then nudged Stormwind on, taking in the city around her. The homes were quaint, built of wood and thatched with straw for roofs. The streets were not stone, rather dirt, but there were many shops, and a marketplace boasting excellent stores this time of year. The people that inhabited them were bundled in thick furs and clothes of earth-colored linen, sturdy against the cold. Their faces were pale and weary and their questioning gazes turned into frowns as she trudged past on her poor fatigued horse. People paused in their tasks; fetching water, hawking wares, perusing the market, to stare. She was too tired to care, to give an ear to their gossip, and instead ascended the hill, hoping against hope that her luck would win out and she would not have to face King Théoden alone.

Edoras was a tall city, and it took her many minutes to make the great climb. Word spread quickly of her arrival because more people filtered out of their homes to watch her, whispering behind their hands, their eyes wide with fear or narrowed in trepidation. Nieriel noticed that there were more women and children than men, and the men that did appear were bandaged, or missing a limb, or walked with a stick to support his strength. _Was there some battle here? _Nieriel thought, as the great hall of Meduseld opened up fully before her on its green plateau of grass. It was the peak of the city, proud and strong with its thick oak planks and sturdy golden thatched roof, with towering windows and surrounded by a terrace of stone on all sides. Flags adorned the front, flanking the great doors which stood open, and they whirled wildly in the wind, their visages honored to fly the banner of the Rohirrim.

Stormwind wound his way up the curling path to Meduseld before she pulled him to a halt in a wide, dirt courtyard. There were stables to her left, a training yard beyond that, and as she jumped down from her charger on shaking knees she surveyed the sprawling city, and the people who had gathered to gawk at her, below.

_Impressive, _she thought, just as a holler of surprise rippled through the air.

Turning, Nieriel grasped Stormwind's reins and looked up the winding stairs that led to the hall and could not stop the grin from stealing her features when Aragorn leapt upon them and hurried down to her. Gimli appeared behind him, flinging his arms wide as he bellowed in welcome and then took off after Aragorn. A tall, stout, yellow-bearded man appeared behind him, a thick, fur-lined cloak about his shoulders and a crown upon his head, and Nieriel knew at once that he was Théoden King. A slew of other men strolled out behind him to ascertain the source of the commotion, but Nieriel did not spare them a glance for Legolas had suddenly appeared, and his smile when he saw her was radiant.

"Nieriel!" Aragorn laughed, and Nieriel's gaze was torn from Legolas's as he grabbed her with burly arms in a squeezing embrace and into the air for a quick spin. Startled, Nieriel held frozen, and then a burst of laughter stole past her lips, revealing her own delight and relief at seeing his familiar face. Strider set her down and pulled back from her with a grin so wide that she was surprised it had not cracked his face.

"By all the gods what are you doing here? Did you travel from Rivendell?" Aragorn gripped her shoulders, looking her over. "You look horrendous."

Nieriel glowered, aware that Théoden and his followers were making their way down the stairs, and that Legolas had bound before him. She suddenly became aware of how awful she smelled next to the freshened Aragorn, and also in contrast to him she realized how soiled she must appear. Her face threatened to burn and her eyes flickered back to Aragorn as she replied, "It is good to see you too, Aragorn."

"Do not forget about me, lassie!" Gimli boomed, slapping her on the back. Nieriel struggled to maintain her balance, but quickly righted herself before lifting a brow to show her displeasure as she looked down to him.

"When did you leave Rivendell? Why?" Aragorn asked, and his grin dropped so suddenly. "Is it Arwen? Is she all right?"

"Arwen lives," Nieriel said, and Aragorn was no fool to believe just her words. Her tone, her lack of explanation, spoke volumes. But instead of having time to extrapolate a deeper meaning from her, Théoden appeared. He towered above Nieriel, his chin tipped in a regal stance as he looked down at her with sharp, brown eyes.

Nieriel knew she had to tread lightly; he may suffer one elf under his roof, but two she was not so sure. She dipped into a low bow, getting a whiff of herself in the process. _My gods._

"King Théoden, I am Nieriel of Rivendell. I come with welcome from my host, Lord Elrond, and on behalf of those I once called companion: the Fellowship."

Silence reverberated around the courtyard, for many had gathered to watch this moment transpire. Nieriel slipped out of her bow with all the grace and pride she had left and met Théoden's narrowed eyes with respect, but steadfast and sure.

His own eyes did not waver. Heartbeats of silence passed.

Finally Théoden replied, "Much has happened in your absence, my lady. Please, take shelter beneath my roof and partake of my hospitalities before we enlighten you on the events that have come to light."

Relief washed over her, yet dread lingered in the wake of it. _Much has happened? _Théoden turned toward Meduseld and began to lead the way back up the stairs, yet Nieriel lingered. She turned to share a look with Aragorn and was suddenly pained to notice his grin was long gone and in its place was a look of contrition.

_And it seems my luck has run out._

* * *

Nieriel was unsure of what news shocked her the most.

Perhaps it was the news that the Fellowship had been ambushed by uruk-hai not long after they had left Lórien.

No, indeed it was when she learned that Boromir had died in said battle, and that Sam and Frodo had disappeared, while Merry and Pippin had been taken by the enemy.

Maybe it was the information that Rohan had almost fallen by way of Grima Wormtongue, Saruman's most trusted advisor, when he had used his mind tricks to overthrow Théoden's will. The Rohirrim would be doomed now, for sure, if it had not been for Gandalf.

_Gandalf! _No! It was the knowledge that Gandalf was _alive _and very much well, and stood before her the White Wizard! The Balrog of Moria was smote to his doom, never to return to this earth thanks to he!

Though truly, it must have been the knowledge that Isengard had fallen by the hands of the Ents, angry over the treachery of the wizard Saruman, who was now imprisoned at the tower of Orthanc. _Those were the trees I had seen!_

Verily, it was the news of the Battle of the Hornburg which had taken place only days before, when Saruman's troops had all but demolished the stronghold that had stood for centuries in a single night. If it had not been for Gandalf and Éomer with his éored, she would be standing on a funeral pyre now instead of a living, breathing city.

Or maybe it was the knowledge that Sauron's army had not been defeated, not even dispersed, and that their next conquest was to be Gondor.

_Much has happened indeed._

Before she had learned all this, Nieriel had been offered a bath in which she had scrubbed her skin raw until clean, and then dressed in a blue linen gown that was too small for her. Disgruntled, she had asked for a tunic and a pair of breeches and though they were too big she sported them now, in the drab colors of Rohan. Belted about her waist was her own worn belt embossed with an Elvish prayer, and though she looked pathetic in the garb she felt more comfortable than she would have been in one of their thick, woolen gowns. She had wasted no time in brushing out her hair until it was dry, instead pulled it into a damp, hurried braid, for there had been talk of a gathering in the hall and she had not wanted to miss it. Apparently it would concern Rohan's next course of action, and she found that was where she would unearth her enlightenment, courtesy of King Théoden. Indeed, the king was rather forthcoming, his tone strong, sure, but nevertheless disdainful; after all, he and his people had returned from Helm's Deep barely alive, leaving the keep in tattered ruins. _Though you would not be able to tell with the way they carry on. These Rohirrim are strong-willed._

Aragorn had told her that Elladan and Elrohir had ridden for Lórien, to seek guidance from Celeborn and Galadriel; the War of the Ring had taken a turn and the odds were not in their favor. Any helpful discourse would be appreciated.

_It gladdens me to know they fare well._

As Nieriel sat at a table in the dining hall of Meduseld with a tankard of untouched ale by her hand, she realized she had never felt wearier, yet more shell-shocked in her entire life. She stared at Théoden sitting on his throne, looking more exhausted than she, before her eyes flickered to the others around her: Aragorn, Gimli, Éomer son of Éomund, Amrothos of Dol Amroth, Gandalf, and a slew of others of Théoden's household. Merry and Pippin had just been escorted out by the lovely Éowyn, Théoden's niece, and it was not until the door closed after their departure that Théoden stood and began to pace his dais.

"Where do we go from here?" Gimli spoke up then, leaning on his axe. "That army of Saruman's may have retreated, but they are not all accounted for. And there are bound to be more of the wretched creatures."

Nieriel felt her lip curl, her mood darkening. _Orcs. I miss the scent of their blood on my newly sharpened blades._

"Gimli is right; this war is far from over." Legolas interjected, and Nieriel looked to him to find his eyes narrowed on Théoden. "They will turn their eyes to Minas Tirith next."

"I am surprised it has not already come to that." Amrothos murmured, his own brow marred with a severe frown. "My brother Elphir rode for Minas Tirith at my father's behest; we had not heard word from Denethor for many months. It rests closely to Mordor, and being the capital of Gondor makes the City of Kings a prime target for our enemy."

"Gondor needs to be warned." Aragorn said softly, his gaze fixed on Théoden's restless frame. "If Sauron's army is not already there."

_As we wait here, _Nieriel thought. _To become sitting ducks as well? Or is Rohan no longer considered a threat because of the defeat at Helm's Deep?_

_ Regardless, we should be fighting for the peace of Middle Earth!_

"I worry though," Amrothos said, and Nieriel's gaze flickered back to his handsome form. He had long, curling dark hair, as black as midnight, with grey eyes the color of a winter's storm. His features appeared to be cut from stone, so chiseled he was. He was tall, lithe and muscled, and held an air of confidence around him that reminded her of a certain other. "Madness has taken my uncle; he may not heed the warning."

Gandalf began to walk languorously around the room, leading the way with his staff. It struck ominously against the stone floor and echoed throughout the hall, ringing in the silence. "You are right. He may not. But what if Gondor were to _call_ _for aide_? If the beacons are lit, Rohan must ride out ready for war."

Théoden did not speak, but his steps did falter ever so slightly.

"If Gondor calls for aide—"

"Gondor!" Théoden snarled, spinning to face those before the dais. Nieriel's eyes flared wide and she gazed at Théoden in shock, sensing his heated rush of anger. "What do we owe _Gondor_? Where was Gondor when Rohan rode to Helm's Deep? Where was Gondor as our men fought and died? Where was Gondor when we armed farmers and ferriers and _children_ with rusted swords and worn shields?" He stopped his tirade and continued his pacing, his steps more harried. "No."

"No?" Gandalf asked, stopping to look at Théoden with a befuddled expression.

"We will remain here to strengthen and protect our own." Théoden stepped down from the dais, moving to stand before Gandalf to meet him eye to eye. His voice was soft, almost dangerously so, when he asked, "Why would we ride to the aide of those who did not come to ours?"

"This is no time to weep pity," Aragorn said loudly, stepping forth to confront Théoden, and Nieriel shifted restlessly where she sat. "The War for the One Ring is upon us; has Helm's Deep taught you nothing?"

"You would readily let Minas Tirith fall?" Amrothos asked in shock. "What of the rest of Middle Earth? Will you only stand by your own as the world burns around you?"

"I will hear no more of this rabble!" Théoden strode past the lot of them flanked by a pair of guards, headed for the main doors. "My men, those who were loyal and fought bravely for this realm, lie wounded or near death, and deserve the honor of their king."

As the double doors to throne room slammed shut, those left behind turned to each other to share looks of disdained bafflement. Nieriel herself sat open-mouthed, wondering if she had truly just witnessed that. _To be a king of a nation and be so selfish?_

"He cannot be serious." Gimli growled, slamming the butt of his axe on the ground.

"He speaks of loyalty," Legolas spat, his bright eyes now dark with contempt. "What does he know of loyalty?"

"He is king," Éomer interjected on behalf of Théoden, though his words held the venom of scorn. "We cannot go against him."

"Sauron's army will take them completely off guard and the city of Minas Tirith will be destroyed. Gondor must be warned, Gandalf." Aragorn turned to face Gandalf once more, his eyes bearing his feeling of emptiness, of hopelessness.

"They will be." The wizard said cryptically, drumming his fingers against the shaft of his staff. He turned to face Aragorn then and glided to him until their shoulders touched. His voice was quiet as he said, "You must come by another road. Follow the River. Look to the Black Ships. Understand this. Things are now in motion that cannot be undone.

"I ride for Minas Tirith."

Gandalf whisked from the throne room and Nieriel stared after him in bafflement. Her head began to hurt then, and she thought, _too much. I cannot handle much more of this in one day._

Others began to disperse then, and Legolas and Gimli fell into a hushed conversation with Éomer and Amrothos. Aragorn lingered in the center of the room, staring at the dais with a lost look on his face. Nieriel stood and approached him, and he glanced at her with weary eyes as she requested, "A word, please. In private."

He sighed, but then jerked his chin toward a set of double doors that led to a balcony off of the great room. Nieriel glanced at Legolas, though he seemed deep in conversation and did not look at her in return, yet she still had trouble tearing her gaze away.

_Gods, _but she refused to admit how gloriously wonderful it was to see him.

The wind caught her braid as she walked onto the stone porch, tossing it beyond her shoulder to brush against her back. This way faced east, and the Snowbourn River shimmered in the distance, painted indigo and flashing orange by the dying light of the day. There were guards stationed at every torch, standing proud as they surveyed the land, yet she drew more than one suspicious glance as she and Aragorn drifted over to stand at the battlement.

They were quiet a long while, gazing out down the hill on which Meduseld sat, lost in their own thoughts. For countless moments Nieriel watched the wind ripple the grass, the sun dance along the lines of the clouds and play upon the fields. She shivered against the cold, thankful for the heavy linen wrap that had been loaned to her, and bundled in it now.

She turned hard eyes to Aragorn. "Rohan will not survive if they linger here, almost as sure as Gondor will fall if they are not warned."

Aragorn looked at his hands, their beaten, bruised lines, before he returned her hard stare. "I know. But Théoden is king, and convincing him of anything is like convincing a fire not to burn."

"And he would damn his people for his own pride and stubbornness?"

Aragorn said nothing and Nieriel looked away, her teeth set hard in her jaw.

"We lost Haldir," Aragorn said, and Nieriel jerked her gaze back to him as her eyes flew wide.

"What?" she breathed, her heart instantly beginning to thunder as her throat threatened to close. Her voice was brittle as she asked, "What do you mean 'lost'?"

"In the battle," Aragorn said, and his voice was thin. His eyes had darkened and Nieriel felt her stomach drop to the bottom of her feet, leaving her feeling hollow and sick. "He came to our aide at the behest of Galadriel, and on retreat to the fortress he was felled by an uruk-hai."

Nieriel did not want to believe it. _Haldir? _She had known him for centuries, remembered watching his younger brothers grow up to become proud watchmen like he. She remembered reveling in his tales as a young girl, of how he scouted Gladden Fields, had traveled as far as Mount Gundabad. She remembered training with him on her visits to Lórien, of helping to train his horse in the same practice in which she did her own. He had been a great friend of hers…

_And this war takes another of mine._

"It was near a slaughter, Nieriel. If not for Gandalf and Éomer's éored, we would have been lost. There were hundreds of them, _thousands. _They gathered outside the keep as the rain fell in droves, their breath hot and steaming before them like the ghosts of those they had slain. They cried out, their voices like terror, and stamped their weapons, a warning to us to yield. But we did not, we thought we could stave them off. And then the wall fell."

Nieriel's stomach churned. She recalled Théoden's words: _Where was Gondor when we armed farmers and ferriers and children with rusted swords and worn shields?_ Children… Children had died, been murdered by unmerciful hands of evil.

_And again, they will be subjected to this horror, unless there is a way…_

"What did Gandalf speak to you? I heard his words, but they meant nothing to my ears."

Aragorn shrugged, sighing once more. He leaned his forearms on the battlement, gazing out over the fields, his expression listless. His hair fell over his shoulders, tickling his shadowed jaw. "Who knows? He is clever, I will give him that, but sometimes he is an enigma that I cannot even fathom to understand. I will heed his words nonetheless."

Nieriel leaned on the battlement much like Aragorn then, her forearms bracing her weight. She looked out over the fields, taking a refreshing breath of the crisp, chilling air before she said, "Arwen is ill."

"I figured as much from your lack of explanation when you arrived."

Nieriel frowned at Aragorn, at his unconcerned tone. "She was dying when I arrived to Rivendell," she said, coarsely and without regard to her harsh tone.

Aragorn jerked almost imperceptivity, yet his eyes remained on the fields beyond. His voice was bland as he asked, "She is better now?"

"Barely," Nieriel clipped, her stomach returning from her feet to clench in her gut with anger. "She pines for you Aragorn. You know this. That is why she is ill." _He knows that Elves may perish from sorrow._

"She should not," Aragorn said, and he straightened like he wanted to walk away from her. "She should not hold such a high regard for me."

"Are you jesting right now?" Nieriel exclaimed, standing rigid before Aragorn. She clenched her wrap tightly around her as her brows fell low over flashing green eyes. "You know she thinks the world of you, the world and more! She is and will forever be in love with you Aragorn, and this distance, this indifference on your part is shattering her! Are you so heartless? So cruel to deny her what she yearns for most? She has forsaken her immortality to have a life with you, and you would abandon her to this world alone?"

"I did not ask these things of her."

"It does not matter if you asked it or not!" Nieriel shouted, her anger getting the best of her. "She gave her heart freely to you, and yet you are crushing it, causing her anguish and despair!"

"It pains me too!" Strider yelled, and Nieriel stepped away from him in shock, her eyes flaring wide. "She is not the only one hurting! Do you think I enjoyed breaking our courtship? Arwen is all I see when I close my eyes, all I think about when I lay my head upon the ground to sleep. Her warmth is all I feel next to me in the cold and her touch…" His voice broke then, and he looked to the ground, his hands fisting.

"Then why are you acting like this?" Nieriel pushed, gripping her wrap with shaking fists. "Why are you saying these spiteful things and acting so crude and cold?"

"Because I must be." Aragorn said, and he turned from her with a sharp clip of his heel. "Arwen deserves more than a lowly ranger."

"But _she_ _wants you!_"

"It does not matter!" Aragorn seethed, and then he lowered his voice to say, "This matter is closed Nieriel. I will speak of it no more. What's done is done."

"Aragorn you are being ridiculous—"

He walked away from her without another word.

Nieriel stared after him so furious she could scream. She did let out a disgusted snarl as she whipped back around to face the fields, crossing her arms over her chest with her shawl tight around her shoulders. _Impudent, foolish, headstrong Neanderthal! _Her legs were twitching, her body humming with ire. _If he would but listen—_

"You are positively writhing with fire." Legolas said as he came to stand next to her, and Nieriel briefly looked at him before turning her eyes back to the fields.

_Fabulous. Now the elf is here. Have I not been spared enough today?_

But her heart quickened then, and for another reason entirely.

She suddenly thought of the last time they had been together, and how crushing leaving him had been. Of how she thought she would never see him again. She thought of how she had refused to think of him in the dark hours of the night, but did so anyway. She had thought about how he had looked at her that one last time, beseeching her wordlessly for things she could never give him. Even though her soul yearned for those things as well.

Gods, but the waves of sadness slammed into her as fresh as before, only overcome by the radiant knowledge that she was truly standing beside him in this moment. Things began to shift inside of her; her breathing slowed, her conscience calmed, her ire melted away. She felt her jaw go slack, letting go of the anger she held onto, and her heart gentled its gallop into a soft, soothing canter. _He is here. I am here. _There was comfort in knowing they were together, for however long, once more. That was all she could think for a time, until his voice interrupted her secret thoughts.

"What did Aragorn say to you to get you so infuriated?" Legolas asked, crossing his arms as he watched her fume. He was not sporting his trademark smirk; in fact he looked mildly perturbed.

_Whatever has him bothered? _She vacantly wondered. _Perhaps he does not like to see me thus?_

But gods was it good to be looking at him. Yes, as she was now, drinking in the sight of him like a woman starved. His long, platinum hair was hidden by the hood he had pulled over his head and the deep green of the cloak he wore matched his leathers and tunic. He stood tall next to her and Nieriel felt his warmth from where he stood, almost leaned into it, yet thankfully caught herself. His smell, of the woods after a summer rain, tickled her nose, teased her nerve-endings, and she almost sighed at the comfort it so suddenly lent her soul. The sound of his voice calmed her like the soothing sound of rain on a roof, a melody to her ears, and made her heart shudder as a result. He was as beautiful as ever, his chiseled features stark in the dying light of the sun behind him.

"He will not see reason when it comes to Arwen," Nieriel said darkly, casting her thoughts of Legolas aside. "I cannot convince him that his ways are folly."

"I have suspected that something is amiss with him." Legolas's eyes narrowed. "But he will not speak about her."

"He has abandoned her after thinking that to be without him is in her best interest. Elrond spoke to him about accepting his heritage, but Aragorn refuses to acknowledge such. In spite of all this, Arwen has given up her immortality for him. He denies to see that his actions are killing her; when I returned to Rivendell Arwen was dying from sorrow." Nieriel shook her head, the movements quick and annoyed. "I have tried to speak with him multiple times but he forbids it every time."

"He is not a man to which emotion comes easily." Legolas said, and Nieriel opened her mouth to counter him, but he continued. "Even with Arwen. He may have fallen for her at first sight, but he is a pragmatist. He can see no positive outcome for this war and thus has decided to act how he sees best."

"That is the problem! He is being irrational and senseless when it comes to her feelings and it is killing her!"

"This will all end the way it supposed to, Nieriel. Have faith in your Arwen to be strong, but have faith in Aragorn too. He needs your support just as much as she does in this, and whereas she has the helping hands of her father to guide her, Aragorn feels as though he is alone. He has always felt alone.

"Even if this war were to end badly, which it will not because let us be honest, I am fighting alongside you, Aragorn will not forsake Arwen. He would never leave this earth without her, even if he had to ride to Rivendell with an arrow stuck through his thick skull."

Nieriel grunted her disapproval. "But is all this turmoil truly necessary?"

"Yes," Legolas intoned, and Nieriel glowered at him. "It is necessary because they will grow from this, and in turn it will make them stronger. Even throughout this ordeal Arwen will strive to be resilient for Aragorn just as surely as he is fighting passionately for her."

"I hate how reasonable you sound." Nieriel groused, feeling her neck and face burn from the embarrassment she was coming to expect when she was around Legolas. He made her feel strained, yet relaxed, both excited and cautious. He made her unbelievably happy yet she wanted nothing to do with him.

But gods how she had missed him.

"One would think you would be used to that by now. Do not tell me you have forgotten what it is like to be around me? You were not gone for that long."

"You are not as old as I," Nieriel snipped. "What wisdom do you have that I do not?"

Legolas adopted his smirk and turned to face Meduseld, though he stood close to Nieriel as he bent down to murmur, "A weathered crone you will soon become."

Nieriel reached out to smack him, and then wished she did not. Her hand was left scalded by the contact and her breath got caught in her throat at the sound of his deep, rumbling laughter.

"It is good to see you too, Nieriel."

He left her then, and Nieriel turned to watch him go. His cape billowed in the punishing gusts of the wind, threatening to tug the hood from his head. Wisps of blonde hair teased her vision, reminding her of a time when she was close enough to feel their caress, and her blood warmed in response. She felt her shoulders relax, her lips part ever so slightly as her eyes fell to his swaying hips, his steady, sure walk. He was powerful, confident, and the antithesis to everything Nieriel was.

She could not tear her eyes away.

_It _is _good to see you Legolas, _she thought, a slight smile stealing her features, one she could not control. _Very good indeed._

* * *

**_AN_: **I apologize for the long wait again; life grabbed me by the ears and ran, and I got behind in my writing. I like to stay a couple of chapters ahead of where we are when I post, and I needed the time to catch up. And I did! Thankfully! I hope to resume a more consistent schedule in the future.

Thank you all for sticking around and being patient with me, and to the newcomers: welcome! You presences are much appreciated, and I do so love hearing all that you have to say when you leave me such pretty words. There's nothing more I cherish than valuable feedback, and it's an absolute bonus that you all are enjoying it. Humbly, sincerely, I cannot thank each and every one of you enough for your continued support.

Until we meet again,

_xox - ithilbereth_

Translations

_Noro lim: _ride swift


	19. Chapter 19: Flawlessly Flawed

**Chapter Nineteen: Flawlessly Flawed**

The next morning Legolas rose with the sun as he usually did and washed sparsely before dressing in a fresh brown tunic and a pair of green breeches. He pulled on his weathered russet boots and grabbed his bow before heading from his borrowed room in Théoden's keep, hoping to catch Aragorn for a bout of archery to pass the morning. It would not do well to let his skills slacken, especially in times of turmoil and strife.

_For who knows what this war will bring, _he thought, flitting through the great hall where breakfast was being served, and the din of guardsmen, serving wenches, and townsfolk slighted his sensitive ears. He stole an apple from a table and headed for the door, piercing its red flesh with white teeth as he approached the sun glinting through the main doorway.

_Yet we are to stay here like sitting ducks, _he continued his musings, stepping into the cool light of a fresh day. It was not as windy as it had been yesterday and a storm had blown through overnight, thankfully just bringing with it rain, leaving the air crisp and dewy.

He paused briefly, drawing a slow breath in through his nose as he masticated, surveying the proud city of Edoras awakening for the day beneath him. The people rolled or carried their wares to their market stalls, the adults pausing to gossip with one another as children twined about legs chasing one another. The people were thrilled with the thought of a celebration in a few days' time, but Legolas thought Théoden foolish.

Indeed, the king had announced that Edoras would boast a grand celebration to revel in the fact that they had come out victorious from the battle at Helm's Deep, but Legolas wondered who would be celebrating? The widows of the men who had been lost? Children without their fathers? Men who could not dance?

Legolas took another bite of his apple, shaking his head gently. _I do not understand it. If I were king I would be readying them for war, not spending the last of our wares on a celebration to glorify the dead and the victory we were barely able to seize._

He leapt down the stairs with ease, polishing off the apple on the last step. He tossed the rind and hoisted his bow over his shoulder, thinking Aragorn was most likely grooming his borrowed mount this early in the morning. The ranger was always up before the sun, partook of no more than a piece of bread and a cup of tea for breakfast, and then went to tend his horse before anything else.

And true to form, Aragorn was walking from the stables as Legolas approached, grasping the reins to the horse he had been given by Éomer for his time in Rohan. The yard was bustling with guards and stablehands and maidens with their chores, and Legolas had to weave through the boisterously loud bodies to make his way toward Aragorn. When the ranger noticed him he raised a hand in greeting, and Legolas jogged over and slapped him on the back in return for his welcome.

"I thought I would find you finished by now and presumed we could go down to the range for some practice." Legolas indicated his bow. "But it seems I will have to wait."

"After this I am to meet with Théoden," Aragorn replied, and Legolas felt his mood sour ever so slightly.

"For what cause? To determine the best way one can sit on their rear?" Legolas asked, and Aragorn raised a brow as his lips curled with a mirth he knew he should not reveal, before he turned and led the horse to a post and tied the rope around a peg.

"I am going to try my damndest to convince him that this is not the wisest course of action," Aragorn sounded so weary, and Legolas noticed the dark circles beneath his eyes as he began to brush the horse's coat of ebony fur; he remembered then the argument he and Nieriel had had the night before, and Legolas knew that he worried for Arwen now more than ever. "But he is set in his ways."

"What of Gandalf?"

"He left just this morning," Aragorn said in reply, his eyes on his task. "He took Pippin with him too."

"Because of the incident with the palantír?"

Aragorn nodded once. "Sauron believes that Pippin has the Ring. Just last night, a nazgûl flew overhead, stealthy and silent yet a warning to us all, and when I spoke to Gandalf this morning he told me that another battle is coming soon. He told me to be prepared."

"So come practice with me and push Théoden off. He is being foolish and you could use some diversion." Legolas jostled his bow upon his shoulder with a grin.

Aragorn smiled, but it was a dim one. "I cannot do that, Legolas. Perhaps I shall meet you later?"

Legolas scoffed, turning his back on Aragorn. In Elvish he said, "The wind can blow across the waters of the river, but it will not change its course. You waste your time with Théoden."

He knew Aragorn was shaking his head, but did not look back to see. He made his way from the ranger and strode down the hillside to where the training yard spread out before him; to the right were the archery rings, in the middle were men practicing with swords, and then further in the distance to the left there were targets and men practicing with spears. There were a few other bouts of sporadic warfare with shields and pikes and knives taking place outside of the rings, yet as Legolas approached the grounds he noticed the growing number of persons choking the archery targets.

_Their din is torturous, _Legolas thought, his lips twisting into a grimace as he heard loud laughter and boisterous exclamations of prowess. And the closer he got, the more men meandered over to the archery area, taking up a vast majority of the space.

He stopped his course. _I would not be able to concentrate on the targets, much less hit one, _he thought, his eyes drifting from the gaggle of raucous men to the area penned off for swordfighting. There were a few men lingering about watching a match in the pit where two men were whirling their blades with ease and agility, and so he headed in that direction. _A bit of blade practice will serve me well._

Though as his feet drew him closer, the ground becoming more level and less covered by grass, his eyes narrowed. He thought suddenly that maybe his vision was deceiving him—no, surely this had to be some machination. Because that looked like _Nieriel _fighting off two men in the pit. And now a third joined the fray.

Legolas's eyes flared wide and his lips curved into a grin. _It _is _Nieriel._ She had her hair pulled back tight from her face, its long length contained by a twisted knot. She was wearing a pair of breeches and a tunic that were both brown, and she was moving about the ring in graceful glides and nimble sweeps. She had her blades raised in offense and they glinted brightly in the ever-rising sun, and Legolas slowed to watch her move, so languid, so sure.

None of the men got close enough to take a swipe at her, for she arched her blades wide and seemed to predict their movements before they themselves knew what they were going to do. She would duck low and then swing with the handle of a blade to take out a set of knees, or she would feint to one side, and then the other, before returning to the former for a jab with her elbow. She was so confident, so formidable it was beautiful to Legolas, and he stopped mid-stride to watch her.

_She is so precise, _he thought, his eyes tracking her every move. Even he could not predict where her steps would take her, and he found himself anticipating with bated breath her efforts. Unbeknownst to himself his feet had begun their journey to the ring once more. His smile was widening, blisteringly bright as he ducked below the rail at the same moment Nieriel dispatched two of the men at once; one she sent away with a quick kick to his chest and the other she startled into retreat with a whirl of her arms, her blades pierced high as if for a throat. She stumbled, however, as her whirling brought her around to catch sight of Legolas, and the third man was able to land a hit to her shoulder with his mock blade when she did not recover in time to counter.

He started rambling to Nieriel, "I am sorry, my lady elf, I should have been—"

"If you will excuse me," Legolas side-stepped the man, plucking his practice sword from limp hands. "I believe I will take up the rest of this bout."

Nieriel straightened to her full height, her blades gripped in tight fists as her breath puffed from her in heaving gasps, her shoulders falling up and down, up and down. A bright red flush covered her cheeks, highlighting the scar that ran vertically down her otherwise perfect skin, and with her staring at him and he at her Legolas could think of nothing except for the fact that she was absolutely stunning in this moment.

She watched him closely, her eyes flickering over him from head to toe with a face that was void of any emotion, except perhaps a little disdain. _For what? _He could not help but to notice a twinkle of hesitancy to her features, a spark of disbelief in her gaze. Did she think he would take it easy on her? Perhaps she thought he did not want to fight her at all, merely wanted to dispatch the men and send her away from the field as well?

_Never. _Legolas had been hoping against hope for the opportunity to test her abilities. To spar with someone on the level he himself was on, the abilities of one so competent, confident, and skilled? It was not every day, or not even every month. And with the way she had been moving one would not even know she had ridden through hell to get here the day before; she did not look tired, she held herself tall and with conviction, her past injuries not even a whisper in her stance, as if they had not happened at all.

"Truly?" she asked, and the earlier insecurity he had sensed rang true in that single word.

"You are afraid then," Legolas taunted, and Nieriel shifted forward, her brow dropping low. "I will leave you to your practice."

Legolas turned, and he knew he had snagged her interest when she stepped forward and called, "You think to best me with a wooden sword?"

Legolas turned with a grin curled on his lips, finding Nieriel raising a slim brow and glancing down at his weapon of choice. The other men dispersed happily from the ring as the two faced off; no doubt Nieriel had been pushing them hard and they were thankful for the intrusion.

His wrist was fluid as he tried out the blade, looping it first one way and then another to sense its weight, how it sliced through the air. "I _know_ that I can best you."

Nieriel laughed, the sound low and sensuous to his ears. Legolas knew it was not meant to be, but his blood flared warm and he felt his spine tingle, his nerve-endings crackle in response. _What is it about her?_

He had no time to ponder it as she came at him with a harsh attack, her blades raised before her face. Legolas rose his sword to block but at the last moment she dropped and swept out a leg, promptly knocking into both of his own and sweeping him off of his feet. Legolas landed flat on his back and the sword rattled from his hand.

Nieriel walked to stand over him, laying one boot against his sword wrist to keep him pinned. She smirked down at him. "You were saying?"

_Stunning. Absolutely stunning._

Legolas knew she expected him to grab her ankle and twist to bring her to the ground, so instead he rolled, sending her off kilter. She stumbled and he used the time to roll to his feet, dancing away from her with a grin sharp on his features, though his backside ached something fierce.

He swung the sword in a slow, threatening arc as she regained her balance, her eyes narrowed, piercing in her glare. Because he knew she hated it, he bowed slightly and said, "My lady."

She attacked. Her fury was palpable, especially in the way she slashed at him without thinking first. His parry was easy, his grin even more so, and immediately she regained her composure. She retreated and held herself calm, watching his every move; from the way his wrist flicked, to the way his hair blew on the breeze, to the way he shifted from one foot to the other. And then she struck again, and her movements became a symphony of flashing light and neutral colors for she made not a sound; no grunts, no bursts of breathless air, no missteps. She was _quick, _so quick her movements were nigh a blur, but he kept up with her, and only so. She slashed with both of her blades and he parried with his one, meeting her every offense with a ready defense. She hit. And swung. And ducked. And hit again. She had not been sweating before but she did now, the drops beading on her forehead to scour her eyes. She was glorious in the heat of battle, mock though it was, and he pushed her harder, faster.

_By the gods! _He admired her strength, her tenacity! She met him strike for strike, never faltering.

"You are slow," he said to taunt her, and he watched as she gritted her teeth to instead bite back the angry retort she would be so quick to spew. "I can predict your movements before you make them. Try changing it up a bit, would you?"

One of her blades slid along his wooden one and she was able to make a jab for his midsection, one that would have landed if he had not moved out of the way with a laugh. They paused then, he bouncing from foot to foot in his mirth and she staring at him crossly, her arms held away from her body in a wide, threatening pose. She was flushed, her chest was heaving with her breaths, and Legolas had to physically stop himself from dropping his eyes there. He felt his muscles tighten, his spine tingle, his body hum in response to her standing there so close to him looking as lovely as any maiden ever would.

_Beautiful, _he thought, a split second before she let out a shout and attacked him again.

"You should not cry out, you know," he said nonchalantly, as if her moves were not taxing him as well. In fact, he relished the sweat gathering on his own forehead, the way his legs were straining to keep up with her rapid-fire movements. "It alerts the enemy that you are about to make a move, and that they should be on their guard."

She did not respond, was too focused on her crusade. He found himself watching her instead of her hands; the way her face would crease, barely perceptibly, when she retreated, as if she was already thinking of her next move. The way her hair had come lose, a few damp tendrils sticking to her forehead and neck. The way her eyes sparked fire, green fire, and her breath puffed before her in white wisps in the cold morning air.

_Earthbound radiance._

Except that radiance tallied too close and he leapt back a split second too late; she had rent his tunic wide with her blade and a short expanse of his skin flayed thinly.

Her smirk was blinding as she nimbly leapt back and taunted, "And you should not talk so much. Or is it your eyes that wander, instead of your mouth?"

Legolas felt his neck heat, and then his face. He tried to call back the cool confidence he so easily exuded, but it was so hard when she was standing there so gloriously exquisite, sweat-soaked, battered, and winded. He panted his breaths, unable to conjure up a single word to her retort, his mind was as blank a void as he had ever known. He merely stared at her as his heart thundered his blood through his veins and his legs and arms shook with more than just exertion.

And Nieriel took advantage of it; she was not so noble as to not strike when the situation was in her favor. Legolas barely had time to block as she slashed her blades, her hands working simultaneously as she drove him back and back and back, her hits raining with the force of lightning. He was on the defense, but even then she tore it down; she struck at a wrist with the pommel of one of her blades rendering him numb in that hand, and when he dropped his hand she jabbed him with the hilt of her blade in his mouth. He felt something split and blood instantly welled. He tried to follow her hands but they each sprouted a mind of their own and he could barely keep up the defense. Her footwork was unlike anything he had ever seen; shifting left, sliding right, moving on the balls of her feet for lightness.

However, there was one flaw.

She struck wide, leaving her midsection wholly uncovered. Though she was slim and the opening narrow, it was enough for him sneak in a swift attack if he timed it just so, one that would no doubt win him the match. However there was no pattern to her moves, and the more she drove him back across the ring, the more aware he was that she was wearing him down and she was thinking of a way to seal this match in her favor, and that move was coming soon.

He had to break her stride. Knowing it would be dangerous, that he could very well lose a hand, Legolas struck out with his wooden blade and caught one of her knives in the upswing, lodging it slightly within the wood. The maneuver threw off Nieriel's rhythm and her other arm fell slack as her face twisted with a grimace of disdain and she yanked on her blade to free it, which she did. But Legolas was quick, and he brought his other hand to the hilt of his blade and switched the weapon into his other appendage, rearing back the blade and using the flat side to strike her just above her diaphragm to knock her breathless.

Nieriel paled and stumbled back, clutching her stomach and dropping one of her blades, and Legolas wasted no time in watching; he swept up her fallen knife and leapt at her like a beast, taking her down to the ground in a swirling fit of dust and dirt. Pebbles skipped along their bodies as he took her down, and he felt her try to roll them so she could gain the upper hand, but he was too strong. He heard the _ting ting _of her other blade as her grip loosened and she lost it, and as they skidded to a halt Legolas grappled his body so his knees were pinned into her shoulders and she could not move her arms to strike him. He sat high on her waist, effectively pinning her hips as well, rendering her completely and utterly beaten.

With her own blade poised at her throat he gave her a bloody grin. "I believe I just bested you with a wooden sword."

She was breathing so hard, but Legolas dared not move, not until she ceded to defeat. He knew she would respect nothing less, would not appreciate it if he leapt off of her and apologized. So he sat down on her belly hard and raised a brow when she pursed her lips instead of yield, her hair a tangled halo of a mess as she lay in the dirt, staring up at him with narrowed eyes.

"Indeed," she finally said, and Legolas climbed off of her and then extended his hand, which she readily took.

The sudden cheering that took the ring was deafening. Legolas and Nieriel whipped their heads around and Legolas eyes flared wide when he saw all that had gathered to watch their swordfighting: there had to be at least thirty men, and even a small smattering of maids and children had assembled around the fencing! The Rohirrim were cheering so loud that it rattled his ears, their clapping and stomping relentless. Nieriel was too shocked to respond, however Legolas bowed low and extravagantly, spitting blood to the ground as he stood once more.

He knew she was overwhelmed by the show of fascination, and she turned to leave when the first man ducked below the fencing to approach. However Legolas captured her wrist, and she turned to him in a rush, and he suddenly wished her hair were free to tease his face, his neck.

"My prize," he murmured so only the two of them could hear. "I would take you riding; this is a glorious city, but even more beautiful from the periphery."

He did not know if she agreed or not because she tore her arm from his own as the first of the men came to congratulate him, to ask where he had learned his skills. She plucked her blade from his grasp and ducked low to the ground for her other, hurrying toward the fence that separated the sword ring from the rest of the training yard.

And then the world drowned out around Legolas as he watched her go. He knew nothing but her in this moment: the rigid tromp of her feet with her spine so straight, the sound of the subtle swishing of her hair, and the lingering scent of sweat and leather on the gentle lift of the wind.

* * *

Nieriel was not sure what she was doing. She was sitting in the loud, boisterous hall of Meduseld as the patrons took their noon meal, listening as the Rohirrim laughed, drank, and babbled about the celebration to take place tomorrow. She felt as out of place as a hen in a den of foxes, sitting at the guests' table in the darkest spot she could find whilst glaring at the hearth across the room. She had taken her breakfast in her rooms this morning, meant to do so for every meal to follow, however her hope had betrayed her and thus she was here.

Waiting for Legolas.

Did he mean to take her for a ride now? Later? Tomorrow? She lifted a hand to smooth her hair and then fiercely tucked it in her lap. She had bathed after their bout of swordplay, scrubbed her skin free of grime and gore. She had lingered over her bruises in the wavering reflection of the mirror, marveled over the trace scratches, recalling how Legolas had caused them and yes, oddly reveling in it. _He did not take our match lightly, _she thought, and not for the first time. _He treated me as a worthy foe, one seriously worth fighting._

_ He treated me as an equal and not an invalid._

The notion warmed her in a discomforting way, which in turn irritated her, and she tried not to ponder it now as she brought her glaring eyes to the meal she had been offered.

The fare in Rohan was hearty; it was a bowl of stew made of carrots, peas, mutton, and potatoes, the gravy thick and brown. A hunk of bread and a trencher of ale had been offered on the side, but Nieriel's midsection still ached from where Legolas had thwacked her with his practice blade and she had not eaten much.

_He moved quicker than I, his movements more precise. _Her brow softened as she thought of his stances, the way he seemed at ease with a blade he had never before held. It always took her an hour or two to feel comfortable with a new weapon, but Legolas had needed mere seconds and he had bested her with it by a long shot.

_Thank Eru Elladan or Arwen were not around to see such a defeat, _Nieriel thought as her eyes drifted to her lap. She had dressed in a clean tunic of silver-blue and a pair of brown breeches, her boots scrubbed clean and oiled by a maid. Her hair had been braided with care, in a style that Nieriel had never tried before but had on a whim today, and by a maid no less. She had never been attended before. She did not know if she liked it. She did not even know why she allowed the maid's insisting on an intricate herringbone braid to sway her. And so what if her boots had been dirty? She _liked_ them dirty.

_Yet you let her clean them anyway._

She glared hard at her clipped nails curling in her lap. _Acting like a girl over nothing. Fawning for a pretty face. A hard body. A radiant smile. An echoing laugh. _Her chest began to ache and she raised a hand to rub it.

"Still sore from our match?"

His voice brought her head whipping up, her eyes flaring wide, and Nieriel's heart stuttered in her chest as her hand fell limp in her lap. Legolas stood beside her grinning through lips that were healing from where they had been split. Her eyes trickled to the open neck of his tunic to see the peek of a bandage from within, and something shifted within her thoracic cavity, making her uncomfortable for a reason she refused to name.

"Did I hurt you overmuch?" she asked, her voice brittle, frail. She cleared her throat and clasped her hands together in her lap to keep them from twisting.

Legolas rolled his eyes. "Superficial. Your words cut deeper."

She adopted a harsh scowl.

Legolas laughed, offering her his hand. "I have had our horses readied, if you are finished?"

"Presumptuous of you to assume I would accompany you," Nieriel replied smoothly, though she took his hand and allowed him to pull her from her seat. Her skin sizzled at the contact, and she quickly took back the appendage.

"Is that not why you were waiting?" Legolas taunted, and Nieriel had the sickening notion that he did indeed know that to be true. Her gut twisted. "Perhaps there was another male who offered to occupy your time this afternoon?"

"No," Nieriel said flatly, refusing to look at Legolas as they walked, in tandem, from the hall. She softened her tone as she said, "I was going to ask to see the library here, if there was one."

"No books with you this time?"

"I learned my lesson the last."

Legolas chuckled as they walked into the bright sunlight of the afternoon. They took the stairs in silence, and if either of them were sore they did not show it. A few passersby stopped to watch them, for they were a sight together Nieriel was sure, for how many elves visited the hedonistic Rohirrim? She ignored their stares, and grew elated when she saw Stormwind being walked about the yard, prancing proudly.

"I will take them," Nieriel indicated the reins sternly, for she did not like many people handling her mount. The boy paled and quickly acquiesced, disappearing from her line of sight though Nieriel could feel him watching her from the shadow of the stables with a gaggle of other boys. She ignored them as well, smoothing a hand along Stormwind's nose. She was sure they were only in awe of the mount; he was a tall steed, nearly twenty hands, and shimmered a fine dapple-grey in any light. His mane and tail were ivory, as well as the socks on each of his legs, and he was regal in his stance, a mighty creature of beauty and brazenness.

"Just a quick bout to exercise your stiff legs," Nieriel whispered to the beast, and he nudged her roughly in the shoulder. She smiled and drew out a handful of sugar, to which he greedily lipped up.

"I am surprised he found his way back to Rivendell, and did so safely," Legolas commented as he rode up on the bay mount he was borrowing for his excursion.

"He is a smart beast," Nieriel said fondly, scratching below Stormwind's forelock before pulling herself into saddle. The movement was painful, but she refused to let Legolas know he had affected her in such a way…though she was sure he knew, if his smirk was telling enough.

"Is he fast?" Legolas asked, and Nieriel smile was smug as Stormwind's ears perked forward, as if he knew what was to come.

"_Noro lim, _Stormwind!"

And with a jolt, they were off.

* * *

Indeed Edoras was a beautiful city, as well as the land surrounding it. The rolling hills, covered in tall grass in hues of yellow and green, rippled with the winds that tossed this way and that. The mountains to the west were bold, striking in their pose of browns and greys, their peaks white, the range curling toward the south to follow the North-South road. The lands to the east flattened until they were even with the river Snowbourn, and the north was a vast emptiness of jagged rocks and glimmering fields. The trees that resided on the fields gaggled in copses of thick pines, and any other vegetation was sparse; a lonely thistle here, a sprig of lavender there. The beauty of Rohan lay in its wonder, a land that was as unknown to her as any. Nieriel could not tear her eyes away from any part of it; she was riveted by every aspect.

"This is so different from Rivendell," she remarked, almost absently, yet Legolas nodded.

He swayed from side to side next to her, their gallop turned steady saunter. They had ridden at breakneck speeds through Edoras, displacing the poor citizens, and then for miles outside of the city until the horses started to flag. They stopped at a small creek for a respite and then had continued on, marveling at the gloriousness that was Rohan that surrounded them.

"But not in a bad way," Nieriel continued, her mood so light. Her cloak whipped around her shoulders, and she looked at Legolas then, her smile soft. "I find I do not mind it, though I do miss my waterfalls."

"You like any nature, do you not?" Legolas replied, and Nieriel was startled by the truth of his statement turned question. _Did I ever tell him such?_

"Yes," she found herself replying. "It soothes me. The wind in the trees, the sound of the leaves rustling. The smell of the earth, of the rain in the sky."

"I as well," Legolas said, and they shared a moment of understanding, of connection, until Nieriel broke the tie.

It was a while before she spoke again, and the words she chose she did not know why. They rushed out of her: "I would apologize for my words last night. I did not mean to make it sound as though you are less wise than I. I was angry at Aragorn, at the situation, at the conundrum we are in. I was tired and battered and am under an immense amount of stress, as we all are. Yet that is no excuse. You were right to say what you did whereas I was being an impetuous fool. In any case, my words were hastily spoken and I regret them."

Legolas blinked at her. Blinked again. He moved his mouth as if shocked to speechlessness, and Nieriel felt her face and neck burn in embarrassment.

"Oh come off it, would you?" she snapped. "Yes, that was an apology."

Legolas opened and closed his mouth like a beached fish. "First the jest and now an apology?" He looked to the sky, and Nieriel sent him a dark glower. "Are the heavens to open and is Morgoth to return?"

"Would you—"

"No I know, there shall be an attack on Edoras when we return. An army of balrogs."

"You are being ridiculous—"

"No. Sauron. Sauron and Morgoth. And balrogs. Yes, the apocalypse itself."

"Can you not just accept the apology?" Nieriel sputtered angrily.

Legolas tipped back his head and laughed, startling a nearby peasant from her roost.

_If I had something to throw, I would do so, _Nieriel thought, pursing her lips.

"Oh Nieriel," Legolas looked at her with shining eyes of cobalt, his grin so infectious she felt her own twitch. "How I have missed you."

That peculiar feeling returned to her chest and Nieriel had to force her hand into her lap so she did not rub her sternum. Instead she glared harder. "You missed the shrew? My sour serpent's tongue?"

_Can you not just say something kind? _Her conscience asked incredulously, and she winced inwardly.

_I do not know why I act this way!_

"I have called you those things in jest!" Legolas said, his tone bordering on disbelief; as if she would think those things he said were true…which she did.

_Truly? In jest? He does not think me a shrew? _She clamped her lips tightly together, ignoring the swell of hopeful relief that warmed her, and said, "Well I have not missed you."

"I will take those as words of anger and nothing more," Legolas said, his smile laughing as he kicked his horse into a trot.

_Lackwitted, arrogant, obnoxious princeling—_

"What think you of this celebration of Théoden's?" Legolas asked as Nieriel kicked Stormwind into a trot and her curses directed toward the elf faded into the back of her mind. "I think it foolish. We should be preparing for war, not celebrating and wasting what winter stores are left."

"On the contrary," Nieriel said thoughtfully, glad for the turn of conversation. "Morale is low; many lives were lost at Helm's Deep. The people need something else to focus on; they need some happiness. Spring will be here soon enough and farming will commence; you and I both know that Théoden would not condone this if Edoras had not the means. Besides, it is custom to honor the dead in some fashion, so why not kill two birds with one stone?"

"I suppose…"

"Moreover, all these Rohirrim need to have a good time is a pint of ale. Have you noticed how much they drink at each meal? Why, even for breakfast they partake!"

"Do you not have wine?"

"Yes, but watered down and not two or three goblets! And not all the time either!" Nieriel said dubiously, and Legolas laughed.

"I think the celebration will be a good thing. It is needed; even Théoden is strained. It will hurt nothing to take one night away for laughter and music; besides, they would all be brooding into their hearths or getting drunk at the brothels anyway. Why not enjoy some music and good company?"

Legolas looked at her oddly, as if she had sprouted a head. Or two. "I feel as though I should be the one convincing you of those things. This conversation is convoluted."

"You are just being narrow-minded," Nieriel said sweetly, kicking Stormwind into a canter. Over the din of the hooves she said, "You of all people should understand that some joy is good for the soul."

He kicked his mount to keep up. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Nieriel looked at him as he had looked at her; as if he had sprouted a head. "Legolas, you are the most carefree, wild, and happiest person I know. You could find glee in the pit of Mount Doom surrounded by orcs and trolls while facing down Sauron himself."

Legolas blinked at her, and Nieriel got the feeling she had said too much. Again. The uncomfortable feeling in her chest multiplied exponentially. She kicked Stormwind into a gallop, her face burning anew.

Legolas caught up a few strides later. "So you are to attend?"

Nieriel had no inkling of doing so, but how would that sound now that she had advocated for the frivolity? _Backed yourself into a corner, you did._

"I suppose I can suffer their music for a trifle."

"And you are to wear your breeches?" Legolas looked pointedly at her legs. His eyes lingered there, and Nieriel urged Stormwind faster. Legolas followed. "Or did you pack a gown into the one bag you brought along?"

"I think I will manage." Nieriel replied tersely, and Legolas's smirk was sharp and taunting.

_Though how am I to celebrate without Arwen? She would so love to pick out a gown, to sort through the jewelry that Celebrían left her, and brush out her hair and then sit before her mirror, gossiping with the maids as they dressed and attended her. _Nieriel thought, suddenly feeling a great sadness darken her thoughts. _I am to celebrate life and vitality while she lies withering._

"You think of Arwen now," Legolas called to her over the roaring of the hooves. Nieriel slowed Stormwind, pulling him to a steady trot. She looked over at Legolas and did not even try to deny what was in her heart.

Her thoughts poured effortlessly from her lips; it was so easy to talk to Legolas. "I find it hard to celebrate when my mistress lies ill. She would so enjoy this celebration, if only she were here…"

_And the only reason _I_ am here is for her. _Nieriel's lips pursed again, so tight that it almost caused her pain. _This is not right. I should not be here._

"And if she were, what would she tell you to do?"

Nieriel closed her eyes, briefly picturing Arwen's smiling face. Her heart clenched as the wind tugged at her braid, teased her cloak, and she heard the Elven beauty's laughter on the wind.

"She would tell me to enjoy it. To make the best of the situation I am in no matter what. To wipe that sour look off my face, grab a goblet of wine, and either sit next to her and gossip about the crowd or take a lad to dance." Nieriel opened her eyes, and the weight of her sadness lifted when Legolas met her gaze, strong and true. "She would order me to have a good time, with total fear of retribution at her hands if I did not."

Legolas's smile was warm, so comforting and understanding. "Then that is what you shall do."

* * *

_**AN: **_Hello my lovelies one and all! I've been trying to respond to you all and write accordingly, however now that school has started up again I'm more inundated than ever. I think it's safe to say I'm more of a twice-a-monther than a once-a-weeker when it comes to updating, unless things in life slow down and my writing speeds up. Never fear though! My dedication is real and ever so loving and if ever there was a lack of writing, I always stay about five chapters ahead so you guys will not lack. Just imagine what's in store for you all, too! I get so psyched when I have free time to write and post, so I hope you all are hanging on too and remain just as thrilled. Thank you for being so patient and supportive. You all are individually and absolutely amazing for all the motivation you have lent me over the weeks.

Until we meet again - _ithilbereth_

Translations

_Noro lim: _ride swift


	20. Chapter 20: Of Gowns and Gallantry

**Chapter Twenty: Of Gowns and Gallantry**

Nieriel could count on both hands the number of things wrong with the current situation she was in.

First and foremost, she was wearing a gown. No, not just a _dress_, a linen dress with no embellishment like she was used to. This was a _gown_. A bloody _gown. _A soft, soothing, wine-red velvet gown. With subtle bronze details of lacing up the back and bodice and an intricate pattern of leaves weaved around the cuffs and round neckline. And matching slippers! There were matching slippers on her feet! Her hostess, Éowyn of Rohan, had insisted upon the accoutrements; when she had found out that Nieriel was to wear a pair of breeches and a tunic to the celebration this eve she had almost had a conniption.

The woman had come knocking at Nieriel's door sometime after lunch asking if she had needed anything for the evening. Genuinely perplexed, Nieriel had replied she did not, but _then _made the horrid mistake of asking, "Whatever could one need for a celebration besides a pair of breeches and a trencher?" Suffice it to say, Éowyn had become aghast at Nieriel's blasé demeanor toward the festivities and the fact that she had not begun to prepare; after all, it was after noon and the celebration was a mere seven hours away! _Hardly enough time, _Éowyn had exclaimed with true trepidation in her tone. She had swept out of the room leaving Nieriel feeling somewhat windswept at her questioning and ecstatic demeanor, yet the Elven woman was more than happy to return to her solace and the book she had borrowed from the library. In less than an hour, however, Éowyn had returned bearing the gift that now adorned Nieriel, and had brought with her three maids. _Three!_

Nonplussed, Nieriel had sat in shock on her bed with her book lying forgotten in limp hands as a tub had been brought into her room at the direction of her hostess, who then began to prattle orders to the maids. Éowyn had left the girls with strict orders of attention, and in her wake Nieriel had been scrubbed, bathed, oiled, and then dressed, before sitting in front of a mirror for _two hours _while two maids worked on her hair and another filed her nails. Nieriel remembered thinking at the time, _if only Arwen could see me. She will not believe me when I tell her._

Éowyn had returned closer to the time of the celebration, still not yet dressed herself, to inspect the effects she had set into motion. Nieriel had felt slightly traumatized after the entire affair, still did in a way, and had stood before Éowyn feeling like a heifer at market, and surely looked like a deer caught in a hunt.

"You look ravishing," Éowyn had told her, her blue eyes positively sparkling as she clasped her hands before her bosom. "That color is wondrous against your skin and deepens your eyes to a forest green. And who knew your hair was so long? You should wear it down more often!"

Nieriel had shifted restlessly, her hands twisting in the folds of the skirt. "I do not like it."

Éowyn had blinked at her in astonishment. "Whyever not?"

Nieriel had flushed with embarrassment as she had thrown her shoulders back in a show of defiance, yet her eyes had landed anywhere but on Éowyn's as she spoke. "This is not me." She had pulled back the skirt of the gown to inspect her slippers, catching a glimmer of the bronze embellishment on the cuff at her wrist at the same time. "I have never worn a gown before. I do not feel comfortable."

_Can you not thank the lady for procuring a gown on such short notice at the very least? _Her conscience had grumbled.

"The dress fits you too perfectly not to wear, Nieriel! Trust me when I tell you, you are stunning. I would not lie to you." Éowyn had told her.

To trust a stranger? Even one so kindhearted and giving as Éowyn? _Well, these Rohirrim are known to never lie…_

Nieriel still wholeheartedly disagreed with the whole "ravishing" portion of Éowyn's diatribe, yet here she was, moving restlessly in her seat, ruffling the skirts of the damnable gown for what felt like the hundredth time. _She _thought it was too tight at the waist. It showed her ankles when she crossed her legs. The bodice was too confining. Her neck was too open. And her _hair! _If the gown was not bad enough, her hair lay in gentle slopes of shining russet down her back to fall neatly around her waist. At her temples were two thin braids that met in the back of her head, and throughout her long tresses other braids had been woven. The damnable maids had wanted to put flowers along the weaves. _Flowers_! Nieriel had drawn the line there and sent the girls on their way, giving her a moment's peace before she had left.

She had sat in front of the mirror for a long while. The woman staring back at her was not who she was, was not anyone she wanted to be. The maids had tinted her lips with a bit of concentrated berry juice and her cheeks had been pinched more than she could stand. The oil that had been rubbed into her skin (which, Nieriel admitted, had felt wonderful to her aching muscles) smelled of sandalwood. She looked graceful and serene, feminine and beguiling.

However, the scar on her face stood out, hateful and angry, against the façade she had been coerced into adopting for the evening. Her filed nails, rounded at the ends, did not look right against the backdrop of her calloused fingers, her weathered hands. Her hair made her nape itch and she pulled it up, but let it drop again. It felt soft; had it ever felt so soft? And her creamy skin shone, a glow to match the claret of the gown. Nieriel almost did not recognize herself, and in a way it frightened her.

_"You are being absolutely ridiculous," Arwen's voice had rung in her head, the echoes of her voice piercing in Nieriel's skull. "There is absolutely no reason to feel that way. Stop acting like a petulant child looking for an excuse to vacillate and _enjoy this, _Nieriel. For once in a long, long time, enjoy something new, something different. Enjoy _yourself._ What happened to the girl that would compel me to jump from the tallest fall in Rivendell? Or the girl who would want to race me to the top of Weathertop in the middle of a rainstorm? At the very least Nee, make the most of your situation! For what harm could that bring?"_

Still, Nieriel had almost not gone. She had sat listening as others excitedly walked the corridor to the dining hall, chattering nonstop with one another. She had sat, staring at her pale and trembling reflection while the great Théoden gave his speech, his booming voice carrying even to her rooms. She continued to sit when she heard a cheer meet his words, and then conversation take over as a single fiddler played in the background and the smells of a feast wafted through the cracks in her door.

_Damn you Arwen, _she had thought when she had finally ripped herself from her chair. She had blown out the candles with vigor, swept up her gown with clumsy fingers, and had torn from her room throwing the last of her caution to the wind. _To hell with you, with these Rohirrim, and with everything in between. I'll go to the damn party if only to get peace from my own thoughts._

And so here she was. Mulish. Aggravated. Completely and utterly annoyed. Staring as the crowd bobbed and weaved and jumped in their messy dances and the musicians strummed and blew until they were red in the face. The people were laughing, loud, boisterous. The ale continuously streamed from barrels. The air was hot; the fires roared, and there were so many people that Nieriel felt nauseous when she looked over the crowd, their bodies barely distinguishable from one another. From her seat in the back she could barely feel the sweeping, cold wind from the open doors across the hall, and the windows were so high up that fresh air was nigh unobtainable. She thought about moving, but then she would have to walk across the floor and likely draw attention to herself. She liked her shadows, thank you kindly. She only had to sit a while more to be able to tell Legolas, and eventually Arwen, that she had come so neither could not rub her own words in her face.

The food had been good though, Nieriel would admit, and what an array it had been. And although she would try to deny it, she caught her foot tapping a time or two to the rhythm of the drum. And the place was certainly decorated nicely with fresh sprigs of pine and hearty lavender, the rushes cleaned and the tapestries dusted just for this very occasion. And all right, perhaps the hall was rather breezy with the windows and the doors open to allow in the cool winter's air. The candelabras and the sconces flickered wild orange light in tune with the music, and the affect was dramatic and enticing. Even the ale was palatable, for indeed half of her trencher was gone. And everyone else around her was so happy it was almost impossible not to smile from time to time; their delight was infectious, and some of the dancers were actually quite good. _Though you will never catch me out there._

"Thinking about joining?" Aragorn slipped onto the empty bench next to her, his own trencher wrapped tightly in hand.

He was clean-shaven and dressed in a fine green tunic with his dagger at his hip, and Nieriel was sure his sword was hidden somewhere nearby. His hair had been washed clean and his beard trimmed neatly, and he looked more relaxed than he had in months, a soft smile hinting at the corners of his lips. The hard lines of strain that he had been boasting of lately were softened, and he melted onto the bench and leaned against the table at his back with the leisure of a man who was at ease.

"On the contrary," Nieriel drawled, as if she were bored. "I have been counting the many things wrong in the current situation I am in."

Aragorn laughed, and it was a hearty sound. His face split into a smile so brilliant, and Nieirel realized she had not seen him this content and jubilant in a long while. "Now that is no way to spend a celebration. Do you plan to do that all night?"

"If it entertains me," Nieriel clipped, her smile drab. Aragorn laughed once more, his shoulders heaving with the effort.

He settled then and said, "You clean up rather well."

Nieriel felt her neck heat, but bit her tongue to divert the blood flow. "I look a fool in this gown and you well know it."

Aragorn tipped his head to one side, his face light and warm with a smile. "It is…different from your usual set of trimmings, but the color becomes you. And your hair—"

"I am enjoying watching the natives, if truth be told." Nieriel cut him off so quickly and harshly that Aragorn startled, however his stunned look was rapidly replaced with a curling smirk. "They are quite a lot, these Rohirrim."

Nieriel's eyes danced over the crowd as they screamed in merriment and a great swirl of gowns colored the air as women were lifted high in a raucous dance. "Tell me though, who is that raven-haired chit who has caught the marshal's eye? He has not left her side since he got a hold of her. And she does not look like she is from these parts with her dark hair and tanned skin."

"That is Lothíriel, the Princess of Dol Amroth, a city on the coast. She is sister to Amrothos, who you met before."

Nieriel nodded, for the explanation fit. "And why is she here? I can understand her brother's presence, but princesses tend to be sheltered in times of strife."

"Ah, her story is an intriguing one: it seems she slipped away unnoticed in her brother's company on their journey here, and now she is stuck here, for the fighting has increased and it is too unsafe to travel home, not that they or we could afford the men." Aragorn said, and Nieriel's eyebrows raised slowly as she sipped at her ale.

"The audacity." The caliber of her voice held a note of hardened ridicule, yet her lips threatened to upturn in a smile of amusement as her eyes trailed to the young girl. She was twirling about the dancefloor with Éomer now, her eyes alight and her face flushed bright from her exertion and the radiant smile she exuded. "She is young, too."

"Just barely twenty," Aragorn replied, and Nieriel mused to herself that the girl had more determination than Nieriel to bring herself all the way here.

_At least she is not afraid to step outside her front door, _her conscience clipped wickedly.

"Come now, I know where your thoughts have went." Aragorn stood then and offered his hand to Nieriel. "Join me for the next dance."

Nieriel stared at Aragorn. And blinked. And blinked again.

Laughter rumbled from his chest in rolling waves. "It will not be as bad as you think."

"I think," Nieriel began. "That I would rather roll in mud with pigs."

Aragorn dropped his hand, assuming a look of theatrical disbelief. "Am I so repellent to you?"

Nieriel glowered. "You know I do not dance. Not even with you, Aragorn."

His voice was teasingly light as he replied with a raised brow and a thoughtful smile, "I do not think I have ever seen you dance."

"And there is well a reason for it."

"What could it hurt?"

"Aragorn…"

"Nee…"

"Be off with you." Nieriel brought her tankard to her lips once more, turning back to face the floor and away from Aragorn with droll amusement in her gaze. "And do not come back here if you are going to talk like that."

Aragorn left her laughing, shaking his head, and went to talk with Théoden. Nieriel smiled to herself before a flash of dazzling blue caught her eye and her attention was drawn back to this Lothíriel. She was so incandescently happy as she gazed at the marshal, all laughs and smiles as they twirled about the floor. Was there more behind her coming to Edoras? Perhaps a tryst that her family did not approve of? Nieriel looked to her brother then, the dark-haired Amrothos. He was talking with Théoden and Aragorn, but every once in a while his eyes would slip to his sister and the marshal and they would narrow with contempt.

_There is more to that story, that is for sure, _Nieriel thought, sipping again at her ale.

* * *

Though she would not admit it, Nieriel began to enjoy herself. From beneath the shadows of the table her foot tapped to the beat of the drum without hindrance, and every once in a while her head would sway to the lilt of the fiddle. She found herself looking more at the people than the table, for indeed these creatures were most entertaining: the women were colorful, radiant in their happiness, and drank just as much as the men, who ambled about and danced just as much as any young girl.

Why, Nieriel even got another tankard of ale! No one paid her the least of their minds and she sat at the table alone without talking to much of anyone; neither thought bothered her. She was just as content to skim the crowd as they were to ignore her. Oh, but she did listen to the gossips from the maids as they bustled by! Talking of this hero or that, which dress was their favorite, or what that Lothíriel was up to; Nieriel learned she was quite the talk of the town. The men that lingered too close to her table had only laughs and jolly tales to tell; yes, war was far from everyone's minds this eve. Knowing that put Nieriel at ease.

_This was a good idea after all. And I came, which means I can leave with that knowledge and Legolas cannot hold it against me._

Speaking of, she had not seem him but a slip this evening. He had danced with only one pretty maid, much to the despair of the envious serving girls that secretly swooned of the "pale prince", and after that Nieriel had lost track of him. Not that she had been looking. She only wanted to see that he had come and would like to tease him on the morrow if she had noticed him enjoying himself.

_But something tells me he will not believe me if I merely _tell_ him I was here and he does not see me for himself. _Nieriel finished the last of her ale and, frowning at the bottom of the container she thought, _perhaps I should go find him. Just so he knows I was here._

She licked her lips and nodded, putting her tankard onto the table. Thinking this a splendid plan, she planted her hands on the roughhewn top of the table and prepared to stand, though her joints protested mightily.

_ Have I been sitting for that long? _Her spine cracked, and she rolled her shoulders as she looked out over the crowd of guests. By the gods, the hall was packed! Even more so than before! There were gaggles of people by the barrels of ale, and she could see from her spot across the floor that they were all sloppy drunk, sloshing ale into the rushes. The floor upon which people had been dancing was roving with sweat-slicked bodies and raucous cheer. Even more beings lined the sides of the floor, strewn between the columns and the candelabras, packed so tightly they reminded her of herding cattle. Sickening dread curled its way into her stomach and Nieriel's knees faltered, lowering her back onto her solitary space on the bench.

_I cannot let him think me a coward or a hypocrite, _Nieriel thought, rising once more. _And what's more, you would let a girl get the best of you? This Lothíriel absconded her way from Dol Amroth and you cannot even cross a room?_

Her conscience was evil, Nieriel then decided, but she pushed away from the bench with determination, however stalling she may be. She ruffled her skirt, shaking any unforeseen dust to the floor, and cleared her throat a time or two before she brought a hand to smooth her hair. Upon realizing what she was doing she snatched her hand down and, to make it seem as though she had a task in mind that was not stalking Legolas (because she was not), she grabbed her tankard and headed for the barrels of ale.

She left her spot in the shadows, strolling slowly around the parameter of the merriment. There was Aragorn dancing with Éowyn. And Merry, standing upon a table telling a tall tale, no doubt. She tilted her head to the left and spied Théoden upon the dais with Amrothos, deep in conversation. _But where is Leoglas? _She looked to the right, over the floor of the dance, and craned her head subtly, hoping to catch a flash of platinum hair. He was tall, like she, so he would stand out. But for all the bobbing and weaving and jumping the crowd was doing, everyone blended with one another to the point it made Nieriel's eyes throb.

With a steady, slow gait she continued to walk toward the barrels, her eyes ever sharp through the low light of the hall. More than once she had to sidestep a whirling couple or a stumbling drunkard, but she did not mind the interruptions; she would smile softly, shaking her head at the antics.

However, the longer she walked, the closer she got to the barrels and she did not see Legolas, the less determined she became. Her bravado was fumbling and her conscience had taken a different tune.

_On the other hand, who cares if he believes me? I can cross a room, and I shall cross it to the doorway and take leave of this. This scene is not to my liking, and I have had enough._

Resolved, Nieriel settled her eyes on the doorway to the outdoors, knowing she would still have to pass by the barrels of ale to her left to get there. She could surreptitiously leave her tankard on a table and leave through the doors, taking a quick stroll before settling down in her room.

_The perfect plan._

She glanced to the left and her eyes narrowed on the nearest table. The barrels were still some thirty paces away lined up against the walls and stacked upon one another, and that particular area was so crowded that there seemed to be more people there than on the floor dancing. And there were even people standing on tables to look at something closer inward, toward the barrels. Nieriel glowered. _Heathens. _There was a lot of commotion going on in this area, and from what Nieriel could decipher the men cheering were actually placing loud bets with knobby coins on some strange competition.

As Nieriel grew closer she realized how thick the bodies were packed, and how they scrambled to clamor forward. However all she cared about was disposing of her tankard and hurrying along. She could ignore the noise. And the smell.

However, very much to her displeasure Nieriel suddenly concluded that she was going to have to breach the gaily preening gathering to reach a table. To her right the floor for dance was close, too close for comfort, and the nearest table she could just see through the tightly packed bodies was to her left. If she squeezed in between the barbaric Neanderthal on the left and the balding scrap of a man on the right, in another three paces she could place her tankard down and be done with this all.

_In and out, _she thought, her determination set. She wound around those less tightly packed, ducking her head to avoid eye contact as a roar went up over by the barrels. She then began to have to wheedle her way a little more forcefully, between bodies that were standing a little too close together for comfort, and she suddenly realized that the table was a bit further away than she initially thought, especially when it was so hard to get to. _Well, I cannot stop now. Dump the tankard. Be gone._

Someone shoved into her harshly from behind directly into the sweaty stack of man in front of her, but she did not have the space to turn around and verbally annihilate her assailant and thus missed the chance. _There must be some sort of law against having this many people in one space! _Disgruntled, beginning to perspire, Nieriel thought that maybe there was another table further away, and that she should just turn around.

"Pardon me." She managed to turn but then her body became smudged between two thick, booming men. Her arms were pinned to her chest and she ducked her head as their fists rose into the air, and they shouted incoherent jibes at something that was happening beyond her field of vision. The scent of sour ale and body odor assailed her and Nieriel turned her head, only to be slapped with the same affront on the other side.

"If you would not mind…" No one was paying her _any _mind. She began to use her tankard as a way to ward off unwanted contact, but whatever was going on behind her by the barrels was riling up, and the men were ravenous to get closer to the action. Nieriel ducked under meaty fists and labile arms, dodging spittle from flapping gums.

"Excuse me!" she snapped at a man whose elbow ended up in her spine, and she turned once more, now thoroughly annoyed and thoroughly thrown off course. She snorted her anger, her disgust, and pushed at the nearest man out of ire before using another to bolster herself while she stood on her tippy-toes to look for the door. _It was this way…_

The crowd gave a great heave and Nieriel was thrown off balance. Eyes wide, arms wind-milling, she gasped a sharp breath as she was ejected from the crowd and a great bellow of joy suddenly filled her ears, her eyes, every last one of her senses. She pivoted around as the crowd surged toward her, and was surprised beyond measure at what lie before her.

There was a short table with two chairs placed up to it, and piled high on that short table were countless empty containers of ale. Gimli was face down at one end of the table, his drink tipped and spilling onto his hand and soaking into his sleeve and beard while Legolas stood triumphantly at the opposite end, in the midst of setting his empty tankard on the table. Smug, he looked over the throng as they rushed him in congratulations, for it seemed he had _won a drinking contest against the dwarf!_

Nieriel's mouth dropped open in absolute shock, and she stood there, allowing herself to be jostled about as she watched Legolas get clapped on the back and his hand shook by the men, while his other arm was used as a Mayflower pole by the women. Gimli gave a giant groan and attempted to lift his head, however when affronted with the full assault of the uproar around him, he flopped uselessly back onto the table in a pile of his own muck.

_That elf was here the whole time! _Nieriel thought, closing her mouth, though the shock still whirled through her in ice-cold streaks of disbelief. _Drinking against a dwarf! And _winning!

Shaking herself, Nieriel knew it was time to depart. The flock had herded around their savior and thus parted for her, and Nieriel turned toward where she could now see the door in the distance. However in her peripheral vision she caught a flash of white-blonde hair, and she knew instinctively that Legolas had seen her.

_Time to go._

She abandoned her tankard on the table and grabbed her skirts, but before she could whisk herself away a smooth hand captured her arm, and electricity singed through her nerve-endings as she found herself pulled 'round to face a very pleased and very drunk Legolas.

"I have looked for you this night," he said, and his breath smelled so strongly of ale that Nieriel pulled her head back; Legolas followed the movement, smiling as though her retreat was not meant to offend.

"Indeed," she chirped with a note of sarcasm, her gaze flickering to the tables littered with strewn tankards. The crowd had begun to depart, although there were those that lingered to refill their own mugs, collect bets from the brawl, or return to their previous conversations.

"It is true." Legolas laid his free hand upon his heart, adopting a very dramatic look of forlornness. "When I could not find you I turned to the only solace I could find: a cup of ale."

"Or twenty," Nieriel clipped and Legolas laughed, and the sound made her spine tingle. His hand remained clasped on her arm and the warmth she felt from the gesture made her soften, and she admitted to herself how starved she had been for a sight of him.

_What a glorious male, even completely and utterly wasted, _Nieriel thought with a gentle inward sigh, gazing at Legolas's softened features. He was dressed as finely as he always was, however this time in brown breeches and a neatly embroidered green leather tunic. His hair looked handsomely disheveled yet fell becomingly in soothing rushes over his broad shoulders to frame his drunkenly flushed face. His eyes, so sparkling a sapphire Nieriel could not break from them even if she had wanted to, captured her into dreaming of what it would be like to see them a year from now, five years from now, ten years from now, a hundred years from now, shimmering as they were, every hour of every day.

"I do not think I have ever seen you with your hair down," Legolas swayed slightly, and Nieriel reached out quickly to grasp him in fear of him falling, the starkness of it showing on her face. Legolas, however, was unaffected by the moment and spoke as such. "There was that one time. By the lake. But you so quickly put it up." His eyes narrowed, his lips pursing. "I think I like it down."

_By the lake? He had seen me? _Nieriel blushed, and this time biting her tongue did not help to stay the crimson. It took her in a flash and she looked down to hide it, at her slippered feet and his handsome, sturdy boots. She quickly released his arms as if scalded as she said to the floor, "It is cumbersome."

_I should have pulled it back like I always do! Silly notions should be left for silly girls!_

And then his hand was upon her chin, the lightest touch of reverence she had ever felt. She closed her eyes and allowed Legolas to tip her chin up, his fingers sweeping briefly over her lips, her cheek, the scar on her face. Her heart had stuttered to a halt at the first light touch, but now took up a thunderous gallop as breath became jammed in her throat. Panic rose hot and suffocating, yet it was immediately contained by the gentle brush of Legolas's fingers as they intertwined with the locks of her hair. It soothed her, his touch, in a way she had never felt before. It comforted her, pushing away any thoughts of displeasure or dismay, and suddenly the noise in the room faded to a dim, melodious hum, her heart steadied its beat, and her blood slowed within her veins. Her thoughts dissipated to only him, and when she opened her eyes it was to meet his gaze, so sure on her own.

"You are beautiful," he told her softly, his voice barely a whisper above the din. Nieriel heard the words as clearly as though they had been spoken directly in her ear.

_Turn from him._

She could not. It was if she was drawn to him; she tipped her head to the side ever so slightly, so his hand could brush her flesh once more.

"And you are drunk," she said, her words passing breathlessly from her lips.

"I may be drunk," Legolas admitted. "But I will never forget how you look to me right now."

She knew the look in her eyes; they reflected what was beating in her heart. She parted her lips gently and Legolas's eyes trickled over her features, from her eyes to her bone structure to her scar, to land there, on her lips. His own parted and his hand dipped down to cup the side of her neck, his thumb splaying along the bottom of her jaw.

Her heart rate increased once more, and this time would not be stayed. "Legolas…"

He blinked, long and slow, and Nieriel felt the pull of his body to her own. She shifted slightly so their hips aligned and he moved closer to her, so close their chests touched. Their opposite arms touched briefly, and then once more, and Nieriel was completely and utterly blank of thought and could not, would not move away. This moment, this radiant moment in time—

"Ah!" Legolas raised his arm then in an 'ah ha!' gesture, nearly knocking her in the shoulder with it. Nieriel stumbled back slightly, her blush flaming red once more, startled from her whimsical reverie.

"I have something for you!"

Blinking rapidly, Nieriel watched as Legolas stepped away from her and began digging in the breast pocket of his tunic. In stupefaction, from all the emotions welling within her and Legolas's sudden turn of action, she watched as he valiantly procured something from his pocket and then bowed elegantly before her with a swirl of his offering hand with the other perched at the small of his back.

"My lady," He jerked into a standing position and Nieriel reared back to dodge the movement, though she reached for him when he drunkenly swayed once more.

However she became captivated by his ransom and stayed her hands mid-reach. He had in his hand a single ribbon the color of a late autumn sunset, the deepest, most arresting shade of violet she had ever seen. The silk tassel caught the light from a nearby sconce, highlighting the subtle shades within, and Nieriel had the stunning clarity to think, _my favorite color._

"You always wear the same one," Legolas said, and then hiccupped violently. He rubbed his chest and belched, but waved his prize around nonetheless, and then presented it to her with an open palm. "I feared you did not have any more, and thus came to purchase this for you."

Nieriel dropped her gaze to the ribbon, completely and utterly speechless.

She honestly could do nothing but stare. And not only because of his gift.

_Had he been about to…to—_

"Well?" Legolas flapped around the ribbon as though he were trying to imitate a bird in frantic flight. "Is it to your liking?"

Sour anger and biting remorse bubbled up from her gut and into her throat, and with more force than she meant to Nieriel snatched the ribbon from Legolas's hand. Without a word, because she was not so sure she could utter one, Nieriel swept her stupid gown into her trembling hands and turned from him, the scarlet blush yet to leave her cheeks. She did not care who she ran into; she pushed anyone and everyone out of the way, and Legolas's call for her was drowned out by the females who had been waiting for his attention while he had talked with her.

_I never should have come. Damn what anyone would have said! _Nieriel thought, her elbows jabbing people as she rushed through the crowd.

A storm of emotions suddenly plagued her: the surging power of desire, the restless ache of need, the potent sting of fear, the cloying sense of anxiety, the red taint of passion, the wind-swept rush of wonder, the stupor of disbelief, the snarling bite of anger… There was too much, too much…

She burst into the night and gasped lungfuls of air as if she had been starved of it, closing her eyes as a brisk wind whipped at her quaking frame. Chilling gusts tugged at her hair, threatening to unravel her braids, but Nieriel reveled in the harshness of the element for it kept her grounded in this moment. She suddenly felt drained, so very drained, and as the wind died down she opened her eyes and brought her hand up before her bosom to look down at what lay clutched between pale fingers.

_He thought of this. For me._

She wrapped her fingers around the ribbon tightly, crushing the gift in her shaking grasp. As her fingernails bit into her palm she turned toward the keep, to head for her rooms and retire from this nonsense for the night. Because that was what this evening had been: nonsense and frivolity, and she was well beyond both.

_You will go on as if nothing happened, _her conscience told her stiffly. _He was drunk, so he will surely not remember._

_ And it will serve you well to do the same._

* * *

The next morning Nieriel called a maid to her room immediately after dressing in a pair of breeches and a tunic, and had the girl send the gown back to its owner. She did not want to be reminded of the night before at all, and regarded the garment with disdain as the young girl picked it up with reverence, gushing tales from the celebration. Nieriel cut her off with a quick dismissal, however through her darkened mood she did think to send a word of thanks to her hostess for her kindness. The girl left looking as dejected as Nieriel felt annoyed, and then the moment was behind her, a memory of the past.

Quietly, for it was early yet, she took to the corridor that led to the hall, thinking to grab an apple on her way to the training yards. With the way the festivities carried well on into the morning hours, Nieriel expected to have the training grounds to herself and was eager to spoil the morning away practicing her skill set. It was a great distracter and an even better stress reliever.

She needed both, no matter how hard she struggled to not think of their cause.

The hall was readily empty, with the only people about the ones who were still cleaning up from the night before. Nieriel swiped an apple from the only bowl of fruit that was out, the one on the dais, and then hopped down the stairs among scowls from the servants. She paid them no mind as she chomped through the rind and sauntered down the center of the hall, sidestepping a puddle of vomit here, a shoe there.

The sun that greeted her was warm and welcoming, the silence even more so. There were distant sounds of chores being carried out in the yard: a girl was pulling up a pail of water from the well, a boy was feeding a gaggle of chickens, an old, crippled lady was meandering toward a small herb garden, a basket over her arm. There was a smattering of a few others about, but no one paid Nieriel any mind as she jumped down the stairs, polishing off her apple on the last, and headed for the yard, tossing the core to the ground along the way.

The air was bitter crisp but invigorating, and Nieriel strode toward the training grounds with confidence, her mind occupied only with her plans, her distractions, for the day: _first to brush up on my archery, and then I will practice my throwing with the shorter knives, and then perhaps some swordplay, and then I will take Stormwind to the fields, for he so needs to stretch his legs…_

A dull thud resounded through her ears and Nieriel slammed to a halt, her eyes narrowing down the path to the training yards that rested below the mighty hall of Meduseld. She whipped her head to the left and saw nothing but city, and the spread of the fields of Rohan beyond. To the right was nothing but the same open fields, beckoning with golden plumes of grass in the distance. Behind her was from whence she came, and she looked over her shoulder yet saw no one. As the dull _thwunk _sounded once more, she brought her keen sight around. The beaten path before her was clear and the training yards looked relatively empty, save the busy boy with his morning chores. However that rhythmic patter came again, and Nieriel began her trek once more, trying to register what the noise was.

It resonated again, and Nieriel felt her nerves jump in recognition. She suddenly knew what it was: the sound of an arrow hitting a target. Which meant that someone had beat her to her destination, and upon hitting the bottom of the path and looking to the left…

There was Strider, his bow poised to his shoulder, his hand letting a stark needle fly. The arrow pierced the outer rim of the target and he glared minutely at the dart before picking another from his quiver, only then noticing her.

"I see you are not confined to the shallows of your bed like the majority of the Rohirrim are." Nieriel told him as she walked to a nearby rack, inspecting the bows and the quivers put out for practice. She chose one of teak, well-used with a string that had just been replaced. Running her finger along the filament and then the wood, she deemed both good enough for practice and grabbed a quiver, before taking a stance some feet away from Strider before a different target.

"You know I am not one for drinking," Aragorn replied, a lift to one slender brow and a softened smile on his face. "Besides, I was not sure if there was going to be enough to go around."

Nieriel chuckled lightly, lifting her bow and closing an eye to take aim. The wind ruffled her hair, pulled back in her worn ribbon, and she waited for the stiff breeze to die down before she let the arrow fly.

She frowned when it hit the very rim of the target.

"Did you have a nice time?" Aragorn asked, taking note of the way her arrow wobbled sorely spaciously away from the center of its mark.

"Fine," Nieriel groused, digging for another arrow. _These are not my arrows, nor my bow. And it has been a while since I have practiced._

"Did you stay long?" Aragorn asked, pausing to watch Nieriel as she aimed and shot once more, this time missing the target completely. His eyes opened wide in his surprise, for Nieriel was never _that_ poor of a shot.

Nieriel glared at him through narrowed lids. "If you would please," she clipped, gesturing toward the target.

Aragorn bowed his head in apology and fell into his own pattern, and the two remained silent while they practiced.

"Perhaps there is something you want to talk about?" Aragorn asked after a half an hour had gone by and Nieriel had emptied two quivers of arrows, none of which hit the center of the target.

Her thoughts were voluminous, however Nieriel refused to listen to a single one. They were locked behind a door in her mind, one she would not even dare to crack.

"I know not what you speak of," Nieriel replied, and did not realize with her words she had already admitted to too much.

"Which is quite all right, but mayhap you will allow me this," Strider abandoned his bow to its rack, and turned to face Nieriel in grave seriousness. Nieriel paused, lowering her bow with her raw and reddened hand, and looked at Strider with a look that suggested she did not want to allow him anything.

"I am sorry for how crassly I acted the other night. I was frustrated and I spoke foolishly out of strain. There has been a lot happening as of late and sometimes I do not find the best outlets for my anger." Aragorn bowed slightly, his head tilted in and his eyes to the ground. "Forgive me, Nee."

Nieriel lowered her bow and returned the gesture, and sincerity rang genuine in her tone as she said, "It is forgiven, Aragorn."

They both turned back to their targets and Nieriel raised her bow at the same moment Strider did, however while she notched an arrow he paused, lowering his once more. "Perhaps," he started, turning to her. "You will allow me one more thing."

Nieriel did not address his words and instead concentrated on the target, a biting sense of dread suddenly gnawing on her stomach. She narrowed her eyes and then closed one, intent on the center of the target and refusing to acknowledge the subtle twinge in her arms or the way her fingers were already angry and raw. She inhaled deep of fresh morning air and then released her arrow and the breath at the same moment; still, to her growing annoyance, it did not meet its mark.

"I have sensed conflict within you for a while now, long before this journey ever took place, and perhaps you do not realize it or just simply refuse to acknowledge it. But there is unrest. I cannot name it, for I am not you and do not know what resides in your mind or your heart. But maybe you would try not to hold everyone at arm's length, so far from you. I know that your past was not an easy one. I know that you think your purpose is for Arwen and Arwen alone. But in time it could be that you will come to embrace yourself, and in doing that you will truly find the serenity you surreptitiously seek."

Nieriel's hand curled around the butt of another arrow as Strider spoke, and when the last syllable rang out, the words did nothing but resonate within her. They curled around her spine, making her stiff. They surged through her blood, making her flesh hot. They clouded her mind, and she was not able to lock them behind the door she had forged for temporary peace of mind. She hesitated on the arrow, not at all liking the bitter truth to Strider's words.

However after a heartbeat's pause she plucked the arrow from the quiver and aimed at the target once more. In doing so she was denying Strider's earnest stare, so sickeningly soft it was, and the feelings that began to churn within her chest, like a black, irksome sludge.

And for the remainder of the day, not once did she hit her mark.


	21. Chapter 21: Living on a Prayer

**Chapter Twenty-One: Living on a Prayer**

The weather the next day was less than desirable, for a late winter storm was upon them. It was neither rain nor snow, some dastardly offspring of the two, though Nieriel was shielded from the worst of it thanks to her beautiful Elven cloak. She could tell, however, that the men she rode with grew bitterer as the weather continued to turn for the worst, for their cloaks were thick but by now sorely soaked.

Indeed they had been riding, scouting most of the day; the celebration was two days behind them and the threat of an attack lurked on the horizon. No one knew when, but everyone knew it was inevitable. There was a heaviness to the air, a darkness that lurked, that shadowed the minds of even the most stout of heart. There was no new news on the happenings in the east, no word from the soldiers who tirelessly scoped the countryside night and day. They were squatting like senseless ducks with Théoden refusing to budge from his seat and Denethor silent from his borrowed throne. Nieriel hated it, but what could she do? To ride out alone to Gondor would be foolish. And there had been naught a word from Gandalf, not an inkling of Sam and Frodo. Nieriel was growing as restless as her counterparts, watching the hours trudge on by the lowering of the candles.

Éomer and his éored had taken to the hills early in the morning to inspect the far reaches of the kingdom, and Nieriel, Legolas with Gimli, and Aragorn had ridden out with them. They rode through the West Emnet while Théoden took a legion of men to the East, and the two halves were to convene at the junction of the Snowbourn and the Entwash to conclude the day and return to Edoras. Nieriel wondered, from beneath the warm, deep confines of her hood, if Éomer and his acrid mood would call an early end to the day, for the skies only greyed further and it did not look like the deluge would end any time soon.

"We are going to catch nothing but our deaths out here," Gimli grunted, swaying to and fro behind Legolas on their borrowed mount. "This storm is not abatin' anytime soon."

"First you are afraid of a salad and now a little water has you up in arms," Legolas remarked snidely, causing Nieriel to fight the twitching of a smile. "Perhaps you are still feeling the remnants of losing our contest?"

This was met by many a chuckle from those that rode around them, and Gimli growled in response.

"I had been drinking long before that, laddie! Started at lunch…no, breakfast, if my mind serves me well! That was the only reason I lost, and I stand by that!" Gimli said stoutly, and Nieriel knew that if he had enough room to thump his chest he would have, as if that helped to prove his manhood.

Legolas sighed heavily. "And so I will wait patiently for the day you admit to defeat."

"It was not defeat!"

"And you call it?"

"A rematch!" Gimli swayed precariously, for he jabbed a finger in the air. "I demand a rematch! Tonight!"

A few of the men laughed in response, eager for the bout. Eager for anything to see them from this weather, really. And the dismal frame of mind that shadowed them all.

"Are you so sure?" Legolas taunted, and Nieriel felt him look at her, but she kept her eyes on the road ahead. They had not spoken since the night of the celebration, let alone make eye contact.

She made sure of it.

"I would not think you have recovered from the first bout, Master Gimli," Aragorn teased, and this was met by more chuckling.

"You do nothing but worry about talking to your people there, Aragorn," Gimli said gruffly, wagging a knobby finger at the ranger. "Tell them to have the ale ready, and at aplenty."

"I somehow think the plenty part will not be a problem," Legolas murmured, and this was met by a hearty hoot from the dwarf.

"What about you Nieriel?" Gimli called to her, and it drew one too many gazes to her. He frowned then, as if just realizing something. "I do not recall seeing you at the celebration, and you have been curiously absent as of late."

"Why are we still talking about it?" Nieriel groused, suddenly overly grateful for the dark confines of her cloak. "The celebration was two days ago. We have larger matters at hand."

"It is just a curiosity of mine, lassie! No need to get defensive!" Gimli chimed, his lilt emphasizing his wonder.

"You needs stop speculating about me, dwarf," Nieriel bit out, knowing she sounded more bitter than the weather. "Anymore and you will lose your tongue."

_You do not mean that. You are being surly because you do not like the tide of the conversation…or the fact that you would call this dwarf friend._

She locked her conscience up tight behind the door in her mind.

Gimli's beard trembled with his poorly hidden laughter, his brows high and taunting. "Can we not just talk friend to friend?"

Nieriel's stare was ice.

"Och, I thought we were better than that, lass!" Gimli clutched his chest as though he were suffering an infarct, though his grin was devilish and his finger turned accusing as he waggled it in her direction and said, "One would think you have something to hide about what went on that night!"

Nieriel turned the color of the cold sky up above as her temperature flamed bright as fire. She turned her eyes to the path ahead, refusing to look at anyone or anything save the dirt before her.

"Go on, tell us who the lad is then!"

Mortified beyond words, Nieriel jerked hard on Stormwind's reins and dug her heels into his sides with vigor. Even though she knew there was no way in the netherworld that Gimli could know what had transpired between her and Legolas that night. _Unless, of course, the elf remembers. And he told him. And they have a secret jest about it. _She darted past Legolas and a howling Gimli, knowing, _feeling _Legolas's gaze on her, as well as the stupefied faces of the other soldiers.

She barked to Strider as she passed, "I am going to ride ahead. I will meet you at the rivers."

* * *

The ride did last most of the day, and the weather did only worsen. The sleet turned the sky near black, and the mist that took the fields was almost as thick as a summer fog. When the temperature began to plummet and the sky began to lose what little light it held Nieriel knew it was time to head for the rivers. Looking forward to a warm, quiet fire and a fresh batch of dry clothes, Nieriel turned Stormwind to the south and let only her path consume her thoughts as she traversed the land.

She had ridden far north, though still a long journey from Fangorn, but not so far ahead so she could not see the riders behind her. She was not familiar with these lands, the layout nor the type of terrain, and it proved to be a treacherous one, even more so in the coarse weather. If she were not so careful and Stormwind were not so surefooted they would have been lost to the innumerable amount of jagged gaping holes or the countless hillsides with their suddenly jutting cliffs. However, blessedly, any unwanted malevolence was to be quiet this day; there was no stench of orc on the wind, no howling of wargs echoing throughout the plains.

Yet however blessed this may seem to others, it was concerning to Nieriel; contrary to popular belief no news was not good news. Something was brewing. Something was brewing and although she did not see it, heard no new word of it, she could sense it. For every once in a while, the air that drifted down the fields held the taint of fire and death. And now and again she would catch a glimpse of something dark far off in the sky, but it was fast, fleeting, and then nothing more. And for Denethor to be so close-lipped even though the south was inundated with attacks, for Mount Doom to rumble with thunder yet nothing ever came of it, with no other word from any other parts of the world… Nieriel did not like it. It was too quiet. And this malicious quiet made her skin crawl.

Théoden's spies had learned nothing either. He had men placed in every major city, every thriving port, but their weekly reports returned little, if nothing at all. All was still. The villages were not being ransacked as they were weeks before. There were no more orphans showing up on doorsteps with only the clothes on their backs. She did not view these things as positive, however wonderful they were; no, this told Nieriel that Sauron and whatever army he had was regrouping. Building. Scheming. Focused on only one thing.

And then there were the coastal dwellers, Amrothos and his sister; they had heard nothing from their father. No rider, not even a single pigeon had been sent. It was all very strange, but in Nieriel's experience with wars, this was the gathering, the swell before the crash of the wave.

It was coming.

Darkness was coming.

_Just as Arwen predicted all those months ago, _Nieriel thought, letting out a sigh so soft, though it carried all the weight of her worries. _To be back in that time, reading our books and lazing away the afternoons…_

_ My simple, vaguely monotonous life of loyalty and servitude is not so simple anymore._

She thought she heard thunder on the air and it broke her reverie. She slowed her mount, listening for a crack of lightening, the echo to the rumble. And then she frowned. _It is not humid enough for it to storm. _She shivered. _And there has been no shift of air to cause a change in the atmosphere. _She drew Stormwind to a halt and closed her eyes, her brows marred by the disgruntled look on her face. With the fog so thick and the sleet still pouring, even her keen eyes would be no good. She focused her ears, her nose, her sense of touch on all that was around her. The wind whipped, bringing with it stings of ice. The air was cold and smelt of wet earth. Stormwind shifted uneasily beneath her, kicking a stone to the edge of the cliff on which she had stopped.

A tingle started in her feet and her adrenaline began to build, to swirl thick and scorching through her blood. Stormwind tossed his head and then shook his mane, casting water to slash her face and through the air. He whinnied and Nieriel soothed him with a gloved hand, listening hard through the rushing fall of the sleet.

An answering rumble suddenly echoed. Nieriel's grip tightened on the reins as her hands began to tingle and her breaths slashed out of her in gasps, puffing white clouds out before her face. Frantically she looked left, and then right, searching for the riders below from where she and Stormwind were situated atop a small, black cliff, surrounded by dead grass and barren bushes. Was it the hooves of their horses that caused the thundering? _Am I panicking for nothing?_

She spotted them, so far away from her, trundling tiredly toward the rivers not a mile away to the south. The sleet seemed to thicken then to an unrelenting deluge, and she blamed the shiver that stole her on the bitter cold and not the exhaustion, the desperation, and the hopelessness she could sense from the riders. Or her own impractical fear. She forced her breath to calm, to ease out even and slow, but her adrenaline would not temper and instead spiked.

For she sensed another, more malignant force on the air.

Or rather, multiple others.

Her eyes flashed wide and she screamed, "_Wargs!_"

A howl split the air and Nieriel kicked Stormwind so hard that he reared, and then dashed into action down the cliff. The riders had halted at her scream, turning to point or look in her direction, yet they burst into movement when the first warg rider tipped over the cliff not a length behind her, snarling, snapping, frothing at the jaws.

It had not been thunder Nieriel had heard; no, it had been the rumbling of the rocks upon which she had stood with Stormwind, the ground crying out in warning as the enemy closed in from behind.

_Downwind. Against the storm. _Their scent had been hidden, almost completely masked. The pelting of the rain had drowned her hearing until it had almost been too late.

And now she was riding for her life.

As she tore down the side of the cliff at breakneck speed, she watched up ahead as the men all turned toward her and their war cries sounded on the wind. Assuming a semblance of a formation, they set the charge toward her with their swords raised. Nieriel concentrated on the broad bodies heading her way, on keeping her grip on the slippery reins, on clutching onto Stormwind with all her might as she urged him for everything he was worth. She could not focus on the wargs so close behind her, or the orcs returning the men's cries with ear-shattering shrieks of their own. She could not focus on the fact that yes, Stormwind was fast, but after riding all day through an unknown environment, over terrain he was not used to, and being just as tired and cold as she was, he was beginning to wane and her enemies were gaining on her. She could not, should not dally on the fact that there was more than one warg at her back.

_Three, if I am not mistaken._

_ You have been in worse situations._

Legolas was leading a pack of archers toward her, a small group who had separated from the bulk of the soldiers, while Strider had broken off to the left to come upon the flank of the battle with another lot. Éomer and part of his éored came from the opposite side, and in the distance, from the other side of the river, Nieriel could barely make out Théoden readying his own men to join the fray.

She could only hope the wargs and their riders would be outnumbered.

_Though my brethren are still too far away. _They were barely more than specks to her eyes.

An arrow sang past her head and she ducked low, stabbing her boots into Stormwind's sides. A burst of speed rippled through him and Nieriel grasped at him tightly, feeling her body shift precariously in the wet saddle. A warg from behind boomed out a roar of defiance and Nieriel startled upon hearing how close he trundled behind her. _Do not look. You cannot afford to look. _She focused on Legolas, on breathing, on staying low. _Do not look back._

More arrows sluiced the air around her, and Nieriel forced Stormwind to weave over the fields to throw off their target, all the while trying to dodge a large boulder here, a skeletal thistle bush there. Closer, closer, _closer… _She could now see the fury in Legolas's eyes as he let loose his arrows, one after another after another. She could hear more plainly the bellows of Éomer as he primed his éored for battle.

_Yes!_

The soldiers on their steeds parted for her and Nieriel raced into the epicenter of their formation, and it was not a heartbeat later that the battle broke out behind her. Wargs crashed with horses and shrieks of terror and pain cracked through the air. Swords clanged and spears snapped. Men roared their wrath and orcs screamed their own murderous rage. The sleet pounded in a torrential pour, though it did nothing to cool the horrible aggression that so suddenly marred the air.

Nieriel pulled hard on Stormwind and the beast stopped so severely, tufts of sopping grass and splashes of mud flared up beside them. He pranced to a stop and Nieriel leaned to the left to spin him, to face the onslaught she had only just narrowly missed.

Her eyes slowly widened in sheer and utter disbelief.

The gap that had been created to facilitate her retreat had been swallowed, and in her wake orcs and men clashed while wargs chomped at horses or fell beneath their hooves. Chaos was abound, painted crimson and ebony by the slashing arcs of blood from both friend and foe. The sleet poured on relentlessly, and Nieriel watched as Man and Orc alike grappled to stay atop their mounts who slid along the slick terrain, their legs nigh asunder.

By the gods, but the hillside she had just traversed was _crawling _with wargs. No, not crawling. Besieged. Overwhelmed. There was no hillside to be seen. It had been overrun, inundated with the ugly, twisting bodies of bedraggled wargs, with the grotesque and frenzied orcs and uruk-hai as their riders. Nieriel counted ten. Twenty. Thirty. Forty. _Fifty. _And then she stopped.

She stopped counting because counting was not killing.

Fire burned in her belly and she let out a war cry before kicking Stormwind into a feverish gallop, unsheathing her blades in the process. The first orc she came upon was trampled. Her second foe, a wounded warg, was all but decapitated by two slices of her blades. Black blood splashed up into her face, smeared through her eyes, but a quick swipe of her sleeve had her vision refocused and together she and Stormwind took on a warg and an orc. Her mount collided with the warg and the orc leaped off its back directly at Nieriel, and she reciprocated with her blades straight and out, effectively stabbing him in the chest although he latched onto her in a frenzy. She gave a mighty cry and thrust with all her might, and the creature was unable to maintain his handling and was lost to the fray of hooves that was the battleground.

Something stiff and heavy suddenly slammed against her shoulder from behind and Nieriel grunted at the affront, pitching forward almost enough to be jostled from her saddle. She steadied her grip on her weapons, but before she could turn to face her assailant the _crack! _came again, this time harder. She nudged Stormwind with her knees and he whirled to the right at the same moment she arced her arm to lash out with one of her knives, her face mottled with fury and cinched in pain. Her blade met a jugular and blood spurted like a fountain as an orc holding a bludgeon went to the ground.

However his warg was very much still alive.

As the orc _thwumped _to the ground the warg ripped its head from side to side in a snarl that sent a chill down her spine, and Nieriel watched as the beast rolled its shoulders, setting its weight back on its haunches. She pulled hard on Stormwind's reins to have him retreat, but her horse refused; there was simply no room with the battle raging on around them. Nieriel dropped her hold on the reins and prepared to throw her blade at the same moment the warg screamed its anger and launched to stretch the short distance between them. Nieriel drew in a breath and aimed, though there was suddenly no need for her to release her weapon; an arrow had sprouted from the skull of the warg and he dropped with a pitiful mewl.

Nieriel's head whipped to the right. And then to the left. Legolas was several dozens of feet away from her, yet they locked eyes over the raging battlefield as if nothing but empty air separated them.

He asked with only his clear, blue eyes, _are you all right?_

She knew not to waste a single second. Nieriel nodded, he returned the gesture, and then the moment was gone.

The next minutes of her life felt like years; she slashed and stabbed and whirled, immune to anything but the warm splashes of blood from her foes on her flesh and the harried sounds of war clanging around her. There were times when she thought she or Stormwind were going to lose their balance and topple to the ground to be lost, but by the graceful hand of fate she remained upright, and so did her steed.

Orcs were dropping like flies, however Nieriel noticed that the men were not faring much better. She tried to look for her friends; she spotted Legolas wielding his bow with a proficiency that was unmatched even in this weather, and Gimli standing beside their horse and swinging his axe like the damning blade of a pendulum, slicing anyone that got too close. Aragorn and Éomer were shouting orders, in full assault with their long blades. Théoden was toward the front commanding what archers were left.

_There are too many foes, _Nieriel thought. The number was dwindling, but not quickly enough. Éomer's éored were highly trained and used to this landscape, but their numbers had lessened drastically after Helm's Deep, and their weariness from traversing throughout the day was evident. Nieriel cringed, her stomach churning, as she watched one said soldier take an axe to the skull, the bone splitting on impact and blood arcing high into the air. Burning with revenge, she yanked one of her smaller blades free and threw it the length to the orc who had done the deed, yet felt hardly any satisfaction when he dropped to the ground dead, the knife protruding from an eye.

_Not enough of us. _The warg of the dead orc spun to face her spitting anger, but before he could leap an arrow took him in the shoulder. Distracted, the warg turned to face his assailant, which gave Nieriel the moment to kick Stormwind to motion and finish her attack. She bent low to the right, dropping an arm, and the warg sensed the movement and jerked his gaze back toward her. But it was too late. With a thrust, Nieriel pinned his jaw to the roof of his mouth. She pulled on Stormwind's reins to halt him with one hand and twisted the other, and the warg extracted her blade for her when he fell to the ground. Dead.

Nieriel quickly hopped down from Stormwind to retrieve her other smaller blade, cutting left, jabbing right to clear the way through the battle to the fallen orc. A shadow fell over her suddenly and she leapt back a step, swinging wide in offense, yet it was only Legolas on his borrowed steed. Offering to her the knife she had been on course to retrieve.

"Thank you," she called up to him, and was surprised at how breathless and hoarse she sounded.

"We cannot win this," Legolas snarled down at her, his ire with the situation palpable. Nieriel watched as he surveyed the carnage, his own chest heaving with exertion, his blue eyes bright through the storm. His short sword was drenched with black blood yet his quiver was empty, and his bow hung unusable on his back. "We have to retreat."

She turned her eyes back to the fray, for they were in a small pocket of their own fighters which allowed them a moment to reconnoiter, and felt her stomach churn once more.

They were not outnumbered anymore, but they were waning. Badly. Men sagged under the stress of the fight, barely able to hold their swords to fend themselves. Théoden looked haggard, hopelessly soaked through to his bones with cold and sleet and blood. Strider was shouting at him words Nieriel could not hear. Gimli was fighting three uruk-hai, scarcely holding his ground. Éomer was inundated, fighting two at once, and Nieriel watched as a third joined the fray.

_We may not stand a chance; Legolas is right. _She felt her resolve thicken then, and her adrenaline surged hot once more. Her blood flared to life and her breath hitched, a light coming to her eyes that bespoke of yearning and _hatred, _a vile hatred for these fiends. So much they had taken from her! Her blood family, her childhood, years from her life that she would never get back, her dearest kin, her most wonderful friends… She felt her fists curl tightly around her blades, and her nerve endings jumped frantically with electricity, ready to set her body into motion.

_But that does not mean I will leave this battlefield without finding out if we could win._

"I do not know about you, princeling," Nieriel whistled for Stormwind and he came cantering up to her, his head held high. Nieriel swung up into his saddle effortlessly, whipping her blades with fluid wrists as she peaked a brow at Legolas. "But I have never run from a fight with an orc."

She kicked Stormwind and he jumped forward, causing her hood to fall back. Rain pelted her face in harsh drops and Nieriel welcomed the stings, for they washed her skin clean of the taint of her enemy and any despair that dared to linger over her countenance.

_You are stronger than that._

Stormwind plowed over what bodies were beneath him with renewed vigor, and Nieriel hacked viciously at any foe he did not fall. She heard the men rallying a new assault and joined in with their cry, the orcs and wargs answering in kind. The listless melee that had lagged broke out into utter and absolute frenzied anarchy, and for a time Nieriel saw nothing but the growling faces of her enemies as they charged her from all sides. She and Stormwind stayed strong through it all, and she allowed herself to think that maybe if they could just keep up this momentum, they could see this through without having to retreat.

That was before tragedy struck.

Two wargs came at Stormwind from his blindside, and the horse spooked. He listed dangerously to the right and Nieriel loosened her grip on her weapons to grapple for the pommel of the saddle to stay upright. However when a warg feinted in threat, Stormwind reared, and Nieriel lost her balance completely. She went down onto the ground hard on her back, losing the grip on both of her precious blades while her body got sucked into a thick puddle of mud, which thankfully cushioned a sharp blow to her head. However her teeth rattled along the bones of her jaw, causing black flecks to dance across her vision as her already battered body screamed in agony, and in reaction Nieriel closed her eyes.

She tried to push herself up and her hand slipped along the slimy film of the mud she was trapped in. Her legs sprawled in opposite directions, her cloak weighed her down, and her body suddenly became one giant ache that throbbed with an aggression that let her know she had pushed herself too hard this day.

_Get up get up get up! _Her conscience screamed, and Nieriel grappled to comply. But she had yet to open her eyes. Why could she not open her eyes? It suddenly felt too good to lie still, to just rest for a moment, despite it being in a puddle of filth.

She fell back into the mud once more, yet a familiar high-pitched whinny coerced her into blinking against the pain. She looked across her heaving chest and saw Stormwind caught between two wargs; one beast had the reins between his jowls and another was snapping at her horse's heels.

Abject terror clawed its way out of Nieriel in the form of a horrible, gasping shriek which drew the attention of the snapping warg. He changed his trajectory to her, prowling slow and long toward her as Nieriel snarled in response, forcing her bones and muscles to submit to her will and _move._

_ Come on you bastard, _she urged the warg, who let out a clipped bark as if responding to her taunt. She managed to grapple to her knees, pushing herself upright with muddy hands, her eyes focused keenly on the beast as it shook its head and cracked its jaw twice in warning.

She struggled to plant a foot on the ground, and a flash of silver caught her eye. Nieriel used her peripheral vision to decipher what had glinted. _One blade. About three feet to the right. _Her eyes flashed back up to the warg, who was licking his meaty jowls as he inched toward her, waiting for her to make her move.

Nieriel knew two things: she had to act quickly, and she had to use the element of surprise to her advantage.

It only took a second for a plan to form in her mind.

Pitching forward onto her hands and knees, Nieriel fell into the mud…and directly, harmlessly, onto her blade. With her arms crushed beneath her she quickly located the handle at the same exact instant the warg leapt, eliciting a shriek that would freeze lesser men in their tracks. However Nieriel rolled onto her back and with both hands wrapped around the hilt, she jammed her blade into the air and made contact with the underbelly of the beast, ripping him open from throat to nethers.

The beast did not utter a single sound as he fell.

Panting, Nieriel rolled and pushed herself to stand, however the change in altitude made her dizzy. She listed to one side yet thankfully a strong hand wrapped around her upper arm to steady her, and when she turned her eyes to her savior she was not at all surprised to find Legolas standing there.

"Good?" he asked her, and after a moment and a few slow, deep breaths, Nieriel nodded. Legolas grinned then, and offered her a spear with a sharp, bloodied head.

"Shall we?"

Nieriel took the spear from his grasp and together they rejoined the bedlam. Nieriel's first order of business was to rescue Stormwind, who was only slightly better off than when she had last seem him; he was fighting for his freedom, and had nearly won the reins back. Legolas lent his hand as well, and quickly and efficiently they dispatched the warg. Nieriel slapped Stormwind on the flank to send him from battle, knowing that he would be safe on his own for the time being.

She watched him gallop off while swirling the shaft of the spear wide to get a feel for its weight before she turned back to the battle. The number of fair heads, however tired and bedraggled, outnumbered the enemy, though Nieriel could tell they could not hold out any longer. The end was nearing.

She ran headlong into the thick of it with Legolas at her side sporting his short sword. Together they clashed into a trio of orcs, taking two by surprise while Legolas beheaded the third before the creature could even react. Nieriel turned in an arc and swung her spear into the helmet of another, rendering him senseless enough that Legolas could swoop in and stab him to his doom.

Nieriel watched as the orc fell, gurgling his disdain at having been bested. The whine of a foe charging interrupted her _good riddance _and Nieriel ducked low and spun around, jabbing out with her spear, and happened to catch a warg in the chest, which propelled the orc from its back. The enemy went sprawling into the mud behind her and Legolas braced himself to stab him.

Nieriel was too quick; she withdrew her spear from the warg and with a very dramatic swirl, brought the weapon spiraling down into the orc, pinning him to the ground she thrust so hard. She braced one booted foot on the flailing orc and grabbed her spear with both hands, and with a twisting wrench she effectively silenced the orc and ripped her weapon from his thoracic chamber.

Legolas raised a simple brow, but Nieriel only shrugged before she rejoined the others and their assault. She could not help but notice, however, that Legolas stuck near to her. As she thrust and cut and stabbed and smacked, he stayed tight to her back or her side, defending her just as much as she was defending him.

And by the gods, did they work beautifully with one another! If she went low, he went high. If she missed her target he would catch it before it scampered away. If he lost his balance she would brace herself so he could catch it, and more than once they traded weapons as the situation allowed. _Like fighting with Arwen, _she could not help but think_. _In tandem were their movements, as if they had been fighting side-by-side for ages; Nieriel could predict his graceful moves just as effortlessly as he executed them, and he played from her strengths just as naturally.

For how long they carried on like that Nieriel could not say, yet she began to notice the field was thinning out. The deadened bodies of their enemies was growing and the sounds of clashing metal was dwindling. She slowed her movements, and then her slowing became a halt altogether, and in blatant disbelief she looked over the hillside she had careened down gods only knew how long ago to watch as the remaining wargs _retreated_. There were no orcs on their backs because their dying screams and gasping breaths echoed from the battlefield in proof that they had, every last one of them, fallen.

_We beat them back, _Nieriel thought dubiously, her gaze darting around the field. There were not many standing, but she thankfully spotted those that mattered most, and a wave of crushing relief surfaced over her; Aragorn, Théoden, Éomer, and Gimli were smattered throughout the fallen bodies, heaving and bleeding, but alive.

"Haha!" Gimli bellowed, brandishing his axe in the wake of the scampering and howling wargs. "_We did it!_"

There was no cheer that took the field, only the ragged breathing of those that remained and the struggled grunts and whimpering moans of those who were dying. Incredulity was stark on Nieriel's pale features, and the emotion kept her immobile as she watched the last of the wargs top the rise and disappear over the cliff she had once been perched on top of.

_How on this green earth— _her breaths were coming out hard and fast, her limbs trembling in the aftermath of battle_ –-did we manage that?_

"Gamling, gather up the fallen!" Théoden suddenly shouted, reorienting Nieriel back to reality. "We must be gone from this place! Éomer, gather your éored to you and let us be gone!"

_More than a hundred foes, when we were only but fifty. _She shook her head, dispelling the thought. There was no time to linger in her mind or on this filthy field. They had to move quickly before their enemy returned with more of their ilk.

A splintering holler took her suddenly by surprise. Gimli stomped his way over the fallen bodies, offering Nieriel her knives with a grin shining through his crimson beard as bright as the sun.

"You were a force to be reckoned with out there lassie!" Gimli boomed while Nieriel took her knives from his grip. "I did not know you were so good with a spear!"

She raised a single brow. "I am good with everything, dwarf."

"She was magnificent, was she not?" Legolas murmured, so softly Nieriel knew she had been the only one to hear it.

Briefly, they stole a moment with one another. Their eyes locked, ice-blue on forest-green, before she severed the contact and focused on wiping her blades with her mangled and muddied cloak, the speak tucked close to her side.

"Your movements were _spectacular!_" Gimli continued, his eyes shining with his appreciation. "You and the elf together… Why, I have never seen such fighting!"

"Let us not tarry," Théoden trotted up to them atop his steed, his face fierce and focused. "You will only have time to talk if we make it back safely. Let that be our priority."

Nieriel nodded her consent and sheathed her blades, asking, "And the dead?"

Théoden's jaw was tight while his nostrils flared, and rain dripped down his face from the helmet he wore. The drenching had not let up in the slightest. "We will send for them," his words were uttered as though they tasted foul in his mouth. "Our own safety must come first. There are many of us who are injured."

Nieriel nodded, and then whistled for Stormwind while the others clamored for their own steeds. Nieriel spun slowly, pulling up her hood as she went to shield herself from the worst of the onslaught of the torrential downpour of sleet. Her tunic and breeches were beyond ruined, so sopping with mud and blood they were. She wiped at her eyes, blinking away the water that stung the gashes on her face and made her contusions throb in angry pain, and as she perused the battlefield her heart sank ever lower.

_Too many… _She felt her gut clench, watching as Éomer picked up a fallen comrade beneath the arm, the man struggling to rise from his knees. Nieriel cringed when he fell to the mud, a hand covering an oozing, open laceration on his abdomen. She could tell by the pallor of his skin that he would not make the slight journey back to Edoras.

_The taste of victory is bittersweet in my mouth, _she thought, her focus flittering over the fallen bodies, all in various states of decay and dying. Gimli was moving throughout the carnage and stabbing any foe who still fought for life while Aragon weakly helped Éomer and Gamling settle those that could stand to sit on the horses that could be wrangled and had not been spooked by the battle.

_Speaking of… _Nieriel frowned and whistled again, this time louder and longer. She looked over the cliffside, the fields to the left and those to the right, but through the arching showers it was hard to see, and it was only getting denser as the sky dimmed and night began to take his due. _Where is Stormwind?_

Her heart clenched. It quivered. _He could not have gone far._ As silly as it sounded he was one of her best friends. She had raised him from a quavering colt, a dear gift from Elrond, spending days and nights to ensure he was the finest, most beautiful, strongest, and boldest of them all. He always came back to her. He had lived through numerous skirmishes, ones much worse than this one. He was swift and sure; he could outrun anyone and anything. He was trained for the harshness of battle and the unpredictability of war. He had helped her flee nazgûl, evade the wrath of Isengard. He had ridden through blizzards and over mountains and through rivers with her. And to be… to be… _I cannot think it. He is here. He is somewhere. _She whistled once more, and the sound splintered from trembling lips as her throat burned.

And that was when Stormwind appeared, and Nieriel's heart splintered for a second time. With a wretched whimper came her horse, limping heavily on one of his front legs. His reins had been mangled, slashed and hanging flaccidly to drag along the ground as he trudged through the mud on legs even more unstable than hers. Nieriel rushed forward, not caring who she trampled over, and caught her weary mount in a grasp that was as tight as the fist around her heart. She closed her eyes tightly and inhaled his familiar horse scent, and for a moment the sting of tears threatened to seep beneath her lashes. She burrowed her fingers in his mane, holding tight onto the rough hair that was dripping with rain, while she nuzzled his neck and he placed his large head over her shoulder, pain rippling through his muscles in the way that he tremored.

"I thought I lost you," Nieriel whispered, and Stormwind stepped closer to her, as if he understood her sentiment.

Breathing deeply, Nieriel pulled back and opened her eyes, affectionately running a hand from his forelock to his nose as she peered into his intelligent, brown eyes. The stark relief she had felt when his brief hiatus had been eradicated was replaced by a crushing sadness when she realized her beautiful beast was weak with pain and weariness, it was so plain in his eyes.

_I will not be able to ride him back, _the realization struck, and she suddenly knew she had a long, dark, cold night ahead of her. But she would not leave him out here alone.

Her train of thought was ruptured when the piercing howl of Gimli shattered the air.

"Aragorn!"

Nieriel whipped around so fast she almost lost her balance, but it was in enough time that she saw Strider fall to the ground on his knees, and then onto his side in a stinking, filthy puddle of mud. Nieriel dropped the reins of Stormwind and leapt over the fallen bodies, dashed around the twitching wargs, and splattered to a halt beside Aragorn who would have fallen face-first into the mud if it were not for Gimli's strong, albeit bloody and bruised hands.

"Aragorn!" Nieriel grabbed his shoulders to help Gimli hold up the ranger and winced with regret, quickly removing the appendages. There was a spearhead sticking out from his right shoulder, the staff shattered and broken, and he had a bleeding temple gash that was dribbling crimson blood into his eyes, so thick not even the rain could wash it off. His hands were latched onto his stomach, and as Nieriel peered down she saw scarlet blood leaking at an alarming rate through his pale, trembling fingers.

"Get a horse!" Nieriel barked, however the sound came out fractured and haggard. A pair of legs dropped down beside her and instantly Legolas was there, and together, with Gimli's help, they hefted a lagging Strider up onto an itching steed who could barely hold still, fear plain in his darting eyes.

"He needs to get to Edoras quickly," Nieriel said, holding onto Aragorn and looking at Legolas earnestly. "He needs to see their healer."

"I am well…" Strider immediately passed out and listed to the side, and it was only Legolas's sure hand that kept him from falling to the ground.

"You are the fastest rider, you take him," Legolas said matter-of-factly, handing her the reins to the stirring horse as he pushed Strider back into the saddle.

"I cannot… Stormwind…" Nieriel looked to her own mount then, who was limping his way toward her, his eyes bright with fear and pain; she had never seen such a look on him before.

She looked back at Legolas, terror so easily gripping at her already frayed nerves. "He cannot be ridden; he needs to be led and it will be a long journey."

"I will lead him back. You take care of Aragorn." Legolas told her, his voice so sure and calm, the antithesis to her quaking tone.

Nieriel looked up at Strider, his body so slack, his coloring too light, too grey for her liking. Stormwind shuddered to a halt beside her and he nudged her shoulder, but Nieriel knew, for her own peace of mind and for the sake of Arwen's that she had to be the one to see Strider to safety. _But Stormwind… _She did not leave her horse lightly, she could not. She had trusted no one with him in all the years she had him. And yet she was the fastest rider and he could not be ridden, and Aragorn needed tending _now._

Resolved, but liking it not, Nieriel stepped up to the saddle and threw herself behind Strider, enveloping him in her arms. She took the reins in hand and curbed the beast who was more than ready to dart, looking down at Legolas and Gimli who stood beside her.

"Please make it so he gets back safely. He is limping badly on his right front leg; I am not sure what else ails him." Her voice was desperate, so pleading.

"You worry only for Strider. We will take care of Stormwind," Legolas told her, and a short burst of relief at the surety of his words had Nieriel nodding and then turning to the west. Aragorn sagged into her hold, and her own weariness was immediately forced to the background and his comfort and survival burst to the fore.

A moment later she tore off of the battlefield, leaving only a prayer for swiftness in her wake.


	22. Chapter 22: Chasing Stars

**Chapter Twenty-Two: Chasing Stars**

It was under the steady rise of the moon that Nieriel arrived at Edoras, and she raised the cry for help as she rode through the town, her mount only able to keep up an exhausted canter. Her shrill and shaking voice brought all and sundry out of their homes, and with a few quick words to the lingering guards, a force was gathered and ready to ride to the aide of those she had left behind in less than a quarter of an hour. Her next instructions were for one of the village girls; she bid her sprint to the healer's hut and raise the cry that there were mass casualties on their way and they all had a long night ahead of them.

She finally turned to lead her horse to clatter wearily up the dirt path to Meduseld, Strider waning in her weak grip. A slew of serving maids met her at the foot of the stairs of the great hall with a rickety wooden pallet on which to carry Aragorn, and he was helped onto the shaft while Nieriel dismounted, almost losing her balance. Dizziness struck her hard and fast, and she leaned against the mount and closed her eyes briefly, taking long, deep breaths.

"My lady?" The high-pitched tone of a maid pulled her back to reality as a gentle hand was laid upon her shoulder. "My lady are you all right?"

Through the aching pain in her joints, the throbbing pressure in her head, and the stinging bite of every single one of her injuries, Nieriel opened her eyes, breathing deeply of the wet, bitter air. Night brought with it a stinging wind that replaced the falling sleet, and Nieriel hoped with what little faith she had left that the relief she had sent out reached Théoden and his troops in time.

If they did not make it to Edoras, their survival through the night looked grim.

"Ready the hall for the incoming soldiers; there are many who are hurt and we need a large area cleared to treat them." Nieriel ordered, and the serving girl gulped thickly, but curtsied her agreement. "Rouse the fires hot, and make sure there is plenty of linen, clean water, and fresh clothes for the men. The elements were not kind to us. Incite the cook to prepare a hot meal."

"Yes my lady." The serving maid dipped again into a curtsy and promptly turned and ran up the stairs to Meduseld, bypassing the pallet baring Aragorn being carried by four young women.

_Do not die on me, Aragorn, _Nieriel thought, staring at his ashen face dashed with the taint of blood. _By the gods, do not you dare die on me._

She took a step, and then another, and her agony, both emotional and physical, almost got the better of her. Her foot trembled and in turn she missed the next step, yet a strong grip was there to steady her. Nieriel looked to her left and was drawn aback slightly when she saw wizened, weathered features studying her from the gaping maw of a brown cloak. The being did not even come up to her elbow in height.

It was a fragile-looking old woman, so crumpled she was almost bent in two. From the way she had gripped her however, Nieriel would have thought it to be a strapping man in his prime. The old woman peered strangely up at Nieriel with two eyes, though only one seemed to work; one was the brightest of blues, the other a milky imitation. Her face was twisted with age, drooping low in the cheeks and jowls, tanned from long days in the sun. Her shoulders were crooked, as was her stature, which told Nieriel she had a pronounced limp. Over a withered arm she carried a basket covered with a piece of linen, and her brown cloak covered her from head to toe, dragging along the filthy ground.

"An elf!" she chirped with the shriveled voice of one who smoked too much, and the cough that followed solidified Nieriel's inkling. "Ye must be the one they be chatterin' about."

"And you are?" Nieriel barked, her frayed nerves snapping one by one.

"Old Agna I am! Show some respect to yer elders lass, especially one that just caught ye now from falling on yer arse!" The old woman shook her head wildly, letting go of Nieriel as she trudged past her, taking the stairs one by one. "The disrespect of the youth astounds me…"

Blinking, Nieriel dashed to catch up with the crone who was traipsing the stairs surprisingly fast. "I do believe I am much older than you, hag," Nieriel said none too gently, a frown darkening her features and snapping a few more of her nerves. "So I would caution you to beg your pardon."

"What is this now?" This Old Agna paused and peered up at Nieriel with a wrinkled brow. "Speak up lass!"

Nieriel blinked again. Merely stared.

Old Agna reached out and poked Nieriel with a gnarled finger. "Are ye dead on yer feet, lassie?"

Nieriel swatted at the crone as if she were a fly. "No!"

"Good." The old lady coughed again and began her trek once more. "Because there is naught I can do for the dead."

Completely flabbergasted, Nieriel leapt to catch up with the woman once more. "Just who in Middle Earth do you think you are?"

"Och, are ye so daft too?" Old Agna shook her head once more, but kept up her pace. "First the Dol Amroth lass, and now one from Rivendell too…"

Heated anger lanced Nieriel. "Watch your tongue, hag."

"Call me hag again," The old woman called over her withered shoulder in a cheerful voice. "And ye will lose the healer ye so sorely needs."

Nieriel stopped dead in her tracks, watching as the old lady whisked into the bowels of Meduseld, her cloak leaving a streak of mud in her wake. That _is their healer? A half-blind, nearly mad, broken old crone?_

* * *

The old crone did more than prove her worth to Nieriel; with quick efficiency she tended to Strider, removing the spearhead from his flesh, lacing up the gash in his abdomen with a needle and a thick twine of thread, and treating his forehead laceration with a stinking poultice that immediately eased Aragorn's pain. By the time she had finished with him, Meduseld had been prepared for the onslaught of the wounded, and within minutes after that they began to filter in. As Nieriel knelt next to Strider, still dirty, still bleeding, unbelievably famished, and exhaustingly weary, she felt nothing but relief as those she had left behind on the battlefield stumbled in, some on their own, others carried by their brethren.

"Well, that be it for this one," Old Agna climbed to her feet, taking her basket with her. She had discarded her cloak to reveal a worn linen dress of green and a tumbling fall of thin, snowy white hair that just brushed her knees and only covered her head in patches. "Onto the next."

"What do you mean, hag?" Nieriel said, with only a slight hint of panic to her voice. "You cannot leave him now." _He has still not yet opened his eyes. Does his heart beat? Will he continue to breathe? _Her worries went unspoken, but shone in her eyes as she peered up at the healer.

"There be nothin' more than I can do for him. Steady him. Feed him broth and water. Wrap his wound with some of that linen there. Clean him as best ye can. Keep him warm." Old Agna situated her basket on her arm and then paused, peering down hard at Nieriel. And then her brow softened, as did her wizened tone.

"He will be all right, lassie. Stay strong. Stay true." They stared at one another, and after a moment of uncertainty Nieriel knew she could do naught but nod. "But find some rest and sustenance fer yerself. Ye cannot watch over him if yerself be laggin'."

Nieriel nodded again, and at once her wounds all clamored for attention. Still she knelt next to Strider and indeed turned her eyes to him, to the linen and bowl of water that had been left to her services.

_I am no great healer such as Elrond, and my hand may not be as sure as Old Agna's. _She reached into the bowl and took the warm cloth from within, wringing the excess water from the rag. _But I will not leave you Strider. Come back to us here in Middle Earth; Arwen is waiting for you._

* * *

The chaos of the night settled down though the weather outside did not. It was to the rattling of the shutters from the angry wind that Nieriel cleansed Strider's brow once more, just having changed the bandage on his shoulder for a second time. Meduseld was finally quiet, with the sick and wounded having been tended to by Old Agna and her attendants. Those that still clung to life lined the stone floor on simple pallets of straw and linen, bundled warm against the cold and bolstered by the roaring hearths. A serving girl was walking among the soldiers offering ladles of water to drink, but other than that there was not a soul about nor awake save Nieriel.

She had eaten a small bowl of broth and a hunk of bread, and only allowed her more aching wounds to be tended to as she sipped on lavender tea. She refused staunchly to leave Aragorn's side, for he still had yet to wake. He murmured incoherently in his stupor, and a fever had taken him at some point for which Old Agna was summoned. The healer had mixed a juice of some sort and forced the ranger to drink it, though there was not much else she could do. With a soft look and a gentle squeeze to her shoulder, she had left Nieriel to her task of watching over the ranger, for the old hag's work was still far from done.

_I wonder what the hour is, _Nieriel thought, glancing about for a time candle. The candelabras glowed warmly, the sconces their twins, yet Nieriel's bleary eyes could not find a single candle to tell her the time, and she gave up with a yawn as she stroked the gritty hair from Strider's head. She had come to sit beside him on the ground, still wearing her leathers, though her blades sat beside her in a heap along with her tattered boots. She had cleaned her face and hands to reveal broken skin and purple bruises, yet she would not change, would not even let one of the girls tend to her tangled and matted hair.

_Stormwind… _Her heart clenched as she peered down at Strider, a fierce look of sadness marring her features. _Gimli… Legolas… I hope they are all right…_

She had paid a boy to alert her of their arrival, for the dwarf had not returned with the others, but she had heard nothing throughout the long night. Every opening of the door jerked her to rapt attention, every new voice that faded to her ears sparked her mind to process the tone, the syllables. But none of them were Legolas or the gruff voice of Gimli. Or even the boy she had given a golden coin to run the errand for her. And when all she had for company were her aching bones and the straggling lull of Aragorn's breath, hours began to feel like years.

When the serving girl passed by her for a third time, she murmured, "What is the time?"

The girl curtsied softly, her voice so gentle as she replied, "The third hour after midnight, my lady."

Too exhausted to correct her, Nieriel watched as she refilled her mug and then Aragorn's and then slipped away, moving to the next pallet. With bleak, watering eyes Nieriel watched as the girl knelt down next to the soldier and smiled softly, offering him a tip from her ladle. They had lost four more soldiers since arriving home, bringing the total loss up to thirty-two. Éomer and Théoden had made it back safely, _so where are Legolas and Gimli?_

Eventually, her own exhaustion got the better of her. Nieriel felt herself listing to one side as her lids drooped too heavily for her to withstand. She fought the urge, the burning ache of fatigue, but her pain had grown too great, her mind too depleted to carry on another single thought of doom and disaster, which had been all she could focus on. She let herself lie on the cold, hard ground of the stone floor of Meduseld and she was asleep before her next breath even passed her lips.

* * *

Nieriel woke to someone gently laying a blanket over her shoulders.

She did not jerk to a quick wake like she usually did; no, this was like pulling a bear from its cave. She struggled to blink her eyes, to register the sounds around her. Were those birds, perhaps? She was shivering, she realized, so hard her teeth were rattling, and the sensation of a headache soon sprang to life between her eyes and at the base of her skull. She pushed an arm beneath her and tried to prop herself up, but her body was so badly bruised, scraped, and bungled that she merely moaned and lay back down.

"Lie still." There was a tender pass of a hand over her shoulder, forcing her gently to stay on the ground. "Here, lift up your head."

Upon hearing that it was Legolas that spoke to her, Nieriel complied without so much of a hesitation. A soft, albeit quite lumpy bundle was placed underneath her ear and Nieriel rested upon it, feeling an immediate sense of relief from her neck which was sore from lying on the stone floor without any support. She tried to open her eyes once more, for how desperately she wanted to see him, to make sure he was unscathed, truly before her and not some dream. However she found the maneuver to be too hard, and instead settled for parting her dry and cracked lips to speak.

"You are here," she croaked, her voice sounding as broken as she was sure she looked. "You have made it safe."

She thought she felt a soothing caress upon her brow, but it was probably her headache throbbing for attention. But she was certain there were birds aloft somewhere. "Is it morning?"

"Almost," Legolas whispered to her, and she gradually could feel his warmth spreading to her; he knelt beside her, so close, smelling of dirt, blood, and horse.

"Gimli?"

There was a soft chuckle. "The dwarf is well."

"And Stormwind?"

"The beast has been tended to by mine own hand. He is recovering in the stables."

A relief Nieriel did not know she had been holding onto suddenly encapsulated her, and she let out a long, slow breath. She felt her body wilt completely onto the stone, and she fell into the dark hand of sleep once more.

* * *

It was a full day later that Nieriel found herself truly well, in all aspects of the word.

Aragorn was on the mend. He had been moved to his private rooms and was getting stronger by the hour. His wounds were sealing thanks to the haggard hands of Old Agna, and he had thrown his fever while the worst of his aches and pains had ebbed. He had bathed, been restitched and rebandaged by the hag herself, and sat in bed now in clean clothes eating a bowl of mutton stew with a hearty chunk of bread on the side.

Nieriel herself was much better for the wear. She had finally bathed and tended to her own wounds, which thanks to her Elvish blood had healed quickly. The headache she had sustained had finally receded, and the only real pain that lingered was where she had been bludgeoned. She sat beside Aragorn now, dressed in a plain, beige linen gown in a wooden chair beside his bed, her head craned over a tear in his leathers. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail using the worn ribbon she always wore, her slippered feet perched daintily beneath her chair.

She had rarely left Aragorn's side, as had his friends. Gimli and Legolas had departed just about a half an hour ago to tend to their own needs, but left with promises that they would return "with enough ale to drown one of those fancy Rohirric horses", Gimli had said. Nieriel was just glad that they were all safe, including her dearest Stormwind.

She had left Aragorn's side briefly this morning to check on him and found the horse lying comfortably in a stall with his right foreleg bandaged. The creature had looked at her with bright eyes from his nestled cocoon of hay, yet when she had walked into the stall he promptly stood, though not with all his weight on his hurt leg. A quick inspection, a gentle palpation, a slow turn of the joint told her that Stormwind would be well in another day or two, the bandage only one for compression and immobilization. She inspected the rest of her beautiful beast and found only small scrapes and scabs, and satisfied with his condition, she had left him with fresh water, a trough of hay, and a handful of sugar cubes.

"You are terrible at stitching," Aragorn told her through a mouthful of food. "Let one of the girls attend it."

Nieriel glanced up from her work, a glare hard in her eyes. "The shirt is barely restorable as it is," she spoke over the crackling of the hearth and the loud _craw_ of a crow that flew by outside.

It was a sparkling March afternoon, one that was warm enough to draw even the most stubborn of crones from their dwellings. There was no more hint of rebellious weather; indeed the sun shone merrily and bright, and there was not a cloud to be seen for miles. The laughter of children was high on the air, as well as the clanging of swords from the training grounds.

_They want to keep their skills sharp, yet there is still no word on Sauron._

"And you will make it worse," Aragorn told her smartly.

"And you will lose your—"

A knock on the door saved Aragorn from Nieriel's threat, however she caught the slip of a smile on his face as she stood from her chair to face the newcomer. When Théoden appeared over the threshold she curtsied deeply to show the respect she held for the man.

_He showed courage on the battlefield and had the intellect to turn us back when his pride would have had him fight, _she thought as Éomer trickled into the room behind his uncle. _He put his people before himself._

"We did not want to disturb your peace for long; we merely wanted to see that you were mending well and in good spirits." Éomer bowed to Aragorn, who ducked his head in gratitude.

"And to thank you, Lady Nieriel. Without your swift riding and sound mind to send for aide, it would have been a long night on the fields of Edoras that would have cost me more men that it already had." Théoden said, and his words surprised Nieriel, for she had not expected the praise. She did not think highly of what she had done; she had only been doing what she knew was right. "And it was because of you that we were able to bring every last man home."

She curtsied with the shirt, needle, and thread clutched tightly in her hands. "I thank you, King Théoden."

"There is still no word from Gondor?" Aragorn asked.

Nieriel glanced back at him, her body angled to face both the Rohirrim and her dear friend. In doing so, she could sense the immediate tension that shot through Théoden's body in the way he stiffened, tipping back his head ever so slightly. Éomer narrowed his eyes at Aragorn before he stole a glimpse at his uncle, his lips thinning and his eyes darkening.

"There has been no word at all," Théoden replied; the words were sharp, and Nieriel could sense the underlying frustration in the syllables. "No word from Gondor, no word from Rhovanion, the mountains, the coast, Hobbiton, Isengard… Nothing."

"It is as if our foes have disappeared," Éomer continued, though his voice was a low mumble and his eyes were downcast, as if he were trying to make sense of where his thoughts had led him.

"The question is not where they have disappeared, but where they are regrouping." Aragorn shifted restlessly on the bed, and Nieriel knew he hated being bedridden, trapped between the sheets helpless and vulnerable and oh so very weak. "We know their next strike will be Gondor. We know it will be soon."

"My men prepare every day," Théoden said, and Nieriel felt her respect for him increase. _He plans even through the ill-will between Rohan and Gondor, when before he would not even think on it. He will not suffer another defeat no matter how small, and not just for the sake of his people but for that of Middle Earth _she thought, her eyes narrowing as she looked at the Rohirric king. _He may not want to go to war, he may want to shelter his people wherever he can, but his pride is stronger than that, and he is brave, very brave._

_ He is king for a reason._

"And if the call from Gondor comes?" Aragorn asked stridently, and Nieriel glanced at him, a quizzical frown on her face. _Why this persistence?_

Aragorn's eyes were bright, his body shifted toward the door. One hand was curled around the sheets while the other scratched soundlessly across the linen. He could not hold still; indeed, one of his legs was jogging, however subtly, beneath the blankets.

Nieriel felt surprise drift through her, slow and gradual. _Perhaps he is realizing… This can and will be won…_

_ How ironic, when all hope seems lost._

"We will wait for that day," Théoden countered, and with a short bow he continued, "I leave you now. Rest well, Aragorn, son of Arathorn."

Éomer followed his uncle with a short nod of his own as they both departed, and Nieriel dipped back into her chair, her hands stalling over the leather shirt she was repairing as she stared at her needle and thread.

_Théoden is ready and willing to go to battle. Éomer will support him. The Elves wander, one by one, to the Undying Lands. The Dwarves are hidden in their mountain homes. The men of Gondor are stout of heart, but they are unprepared and have faltered under a tyrannical leader._

She picked up the needle and thread once more, sighing softly. _The odds are not in our favor. _Her eyes drifted upwards, to land on Aragorn who was staring at the hearth, as lost in thought as she. _But if he were to have hope, he could rekindle it within us all. And maybe, just maybe—_

"Has Gandalf not sent word?" Aragorn suddenly asked, his blue eyes turning towards her.

Nieriel shook her head slowly, thinking if there was a pigeon or hawk carrying such a missive she would have known.

"Not that I can recall."

Aragorn looked away from her, back to the hearth. He began drumming his fingers on the bed linen once more and Nieriel frowned at him, thinking briefly that if she were to continue this routine her face might permanently morph into the gesture.

"You seem eager. More so than usual," she remarked casually, though she felt anything but. An odd sensation began to thrum within her, as if Aragorn's begotten fever had suddenly ignited her own.

Aragorn looked at her, his brow creased in consternation, and his voice was hoarse as he said, "We can win this, Nee. If we can rally the rest of our forces at Gondor, strap every last man with a sword and arm every boy with a shield, we can take them into battle and win this."

"Aragorn…"

"No, listen to me," Aragorn said, and he shifted in the bed to face her, his hands moving vigorously while he spoke. "Gandalf is planning something. I know this. He will bring Denethor around. Sam and Frodo… We would know if they were dead. They still make the journey to take The Ring to Mordor. Isengard, the stronghold of the enemy, has fallen. The Ents are on our side if we need them. We _must_ have hope, remain strong even though the odds are against us in all of this."

"I hear what you are saying," Nieriel said, setting down her needle and thread. "But we are just sitting here Aragorn, waiting. What if we sit and wait for another week? Another two? What if our hope runs dry?"

A sound of frustration was ripped from Aragorn and he looked out the window as he ran a bruised and battered hand through his hair. "It will not. I will not allow it. I just do not know how to get Théoden to act."

"That is not up to you to accomplish. The wind cannot move the mountain."

"But why can he not see? Time is of the essence!"

Nieriel smiled. "How our roles have changed in only a matter of weeks."

At first he did not catch her meaning, but when he did Aragorn smiled as well, laughing and sighing as he settled back into his pillows. He looked at his hands, began to pick at one of his bandages.

"How indeed."

Nieriel watched the rise and fall of emotions through his eyes. Aragorn was calm and collected, a quiet man, but his eyes were so expressive, and over the years she had come to read him through them. Just a moment ago he felt charged and impassioned, whereas now he looked wilted, the hope and excitement of victory seeping out of him slowly, sadly.

"Aragorn, we will have enough time to plan battles and quests and tactics in a day's time. Use the rest of this one for respite, to strengthen yourself. Today's problems will surely be here tomorrow." Nieriel told him softly, and then returned to her simple task of mending his shirt.

Silence stretched out between them until only the crackling of the fire could be heard once more. Nieriel began to settle into her task, her eyes focused on the pull and stab of her needle, the uneven line of sutures in the leather shirt. She felt at peace in this moment, for the first time in a long time, and enjoyed the comfort that was brought with this space in time.

"I know that Elrond does not think me worthy of her," Aragorn suddenly said, and Nieriel glanced up at him with the needle paused mid-thread. Aragorn was staring at his hands again, though he was not as restless as before, and his words were low, filled with sorrow. "And he is right. Yet I do not know how to rectify that.

"That is part of the reason I left. I knew Elrond meant not to harm me with his words; he spoke a truth that I knew, but was unwilling to see. I do not deserve Arwen. Not back then, and not in this moment. But I _want_ to be able to."

Nieriel set down her needle and thread once more, thinking over her words carefully. She chose to ask, "Would you like to know what I think?"

"Something tells me I am going to hear it anyway," Aragorn replied, earning himself a small chuckle.

"I think you are frightened. You are frightened of accepting your heritage, not only because it troubles you that you share lineage with Isildur, but because of the responsibility it entails. You have been a ranger for so long that it is comfortable to you. It is what you know, what you are excel at, and a vast part of who you are. And it is perfectly all right to be afraid of what you do not know. But you cannot spend your life doing what is comfortable and only what you know. For then what is living?

"You are _not _Isildur, Aragorn. You never will be. He allowed greed to steal him in a moment of weakness. You are smarter, more courageous, and greatly more strong-willed than any man I know. You have _learned_ from not only your mistakes but those of the past, and you have grown from them. _That_ is what matters."

Aragorn stared at Nieriel for a moment longer before he brought his gaze back to his hands and began to pick at his bandage once more. Nieriel watched him until she realized she would get no more out of him and then returned to her menial task. Though now she sported a soft, secret smile. One that had blossomed in the wake of hope.

_He _wants _to be better. That is the beginning._

_ Perhaps we will overcome after all, and all of this worry, all of this pain, all of this anguish will have been for naught._

_ And what a relief that will be._

"Well what of you then?" Aragorn suddenly asked, and Nieriel glanced up briefly as she threaded her needle through the shirt.

"What of me?"

"What are you afraid of?"

_This reminds me of a conversation not so long ago with another, _Nieriel thought_, _arcing a brow at her friend._ About desires, forbidden thoughts, hapless dreams…_

"You know I fear nothing, save maybe a nazgûl," Nieriel replied flippantly.

"Perhaps a certain prince?" Aragorn hedged, and Nieriel bloomed the color of a spring tulip and simultaneously pricked her finger.

"You speak of the Dol Amroth boy?" she inquired, studiously ignoring the fact that that was _not _whom Aragorn was referring to. "He does not frighten me. Although he does stare, which is rather unsettling."

"That is not of whom I speak and you know it."

"At any rate, is he not third in line for the throne? Hardly a prince."

"I speak of Legolas."

Nieriel heart thumped at the sound of his name, so hard that it pained her. She quickly sucked the blood off the tip of her finger and then resumed her task without saying a word.

"I have known Legolas for a long time," Aragorn began, and Nieriel ignored him so intensely, her eyes so focused on her work, that a headache sprung to life between her brows. "He is not the way he is with you around others. To an extent maybe, for he does like to pester, and the ladies have always been forthcoming. But with you… _He_ is the one who seeks _you_ out. He is always looking at you. Always talking about you, or asking about you, frequently bringing you into the conversation when you are not around. He smiles when you are near, a secret smile as if it is only meant for you. His posture changes, his tone softens, his countenance brightens. And I have noticed that you have an eye for him as well."

Her fears manifested: Aragorn was smart, and he knew them both well. She knew it would only be a matter of time before he picked up on their behavior.

So she did the only thing she could think of.

She diverted.

"Hush, I am trying to work. All this talk and you will never rest yourself." She waved a negligent hand at him, not even gracing him with a look.

She could not. She was blushing from hairline to neckline.

"You speak of living without fear, yet here you sit, refusing to live by your own words. Why, I do not know another person more monotonous in their ways! The hypocrisy!"

Nieriel ignored him.

"Come Nee, what is there truly to fear? You acknowledge there is something between the two of you… What is the harm in that? It would be an excellent match—"

"I ask you to stop this," Nieriel cut him off hastily, her voice like a knife. "You may be willing to express your feelings but I do not share the same inclinations. Besides, he is a prince. You forget I come from no one and nothing. Leave it at that."

The silence fell between them once more, like a heavy black drape separating their worlds. Aragorn's filled with pity, with impatience, and maybe a touch of irrational irritation, while Nieriel tried desperately not to think of anything a'tall.


	23. Chapter 23: Gentler Times

**Chapter Twenty-Three: Gentler Times**

The next day came and went, and the evening's repast found the hall crowded with patrons for supper, the high table full of nobles and their guests. Nieriel sat at the end of the table next to Gimli, who was so engrossed with his meal and his trencher that he left her relatively unbothered, which suited Nieriel well enough. Beside him sat Legolas, Aragorn, the lady Éowyn, and then Éomer, with Théoden in the center, while on the other side were the Dol Amroth nobles and Théoden's advisors.

As the wind howled outside, another early spring storm upon them, all was well within. The hearths glowed warm, the dogs lazed by the fires, the rushes were clean and sprinkled with fresh lavender, the meal was hearty and appetizing, and the ale just as rustic as Nieriel was coming to appreciate. The company was boisterous but appealing, and Nieriel listened to the various conversations and laughter from the high table while the rumblings from the hall filled the void around her.

"And your plans, lady elf? Are you to remain in our company?"

Nieriel glanced up from her pheasant, surprised to find the tide of the conversation turned toward her. Éomer was watching her, sipping from his mug, while the others waited for her reply.

"Ah yes, I do believe so," Nieriel replied, wiping her mouth delicately with her napkin.

"This one thrives on the blood from battle!" Gimli supplied, offering Nieriel a not-so-gentle pat on the back. "Do you not, lassie?"

"Indeed; spilling orc blood is one of my most favorite things. Besides spilling dwarf blood, that is."

A raucous laugh took the table then, with Gimli laughing the loudest.

"We here in Rohan have not heard any tales of you, but the dwarf was sure to change that in your absence," Théoden leaned in then to peer at Nieriel down the table. She, in turn, looked at Gimli with a set of raised brows and a look that said, _really now?_

"Whatever did you tell them, Gimli?" Nieriel asked in a taunting tone, which made the dwarf turn positively crimson with discomfiture.

"Well it was nothin' that we had not seen before, now! I only told them of your feats on the journey prior, and maybe a tale or two from our homeland!"

"Ah, spreading nightmarish tales I see," Nieriel countered, knowing full well what the dwarves spoke of her.

_Perhaps he told them of the time I skewered three of his kinsmen with one spear at The Battle of the Five Armies? Or the time I snapped another's spine for his thievery? Mayhap he told the tale when I used my horse to trample down a troop of them in retreat when they thought to steal into Rivendell's halls and filch our gold?_

_ All true, of course._

"On the contrary," Éomer said loudly, taking Nieriel's attention from Gimli to he. "He could not stop _gushing _about how you had helped him defend his home of Moria from the orcs."

Surprised, Nieriel glanced back down at Gimli beside her. His reddened face had receded to only brighten his cheeks (which may have been more telling of the drinks he had had, at any rate) and his chest had bowed with pride.

"Although we lost that day, you helped me defend my home. That means a lot to me, lassie," Gimli told her, and his soft, sincere words warmed her, starting with the ice around her heart.

"However, heathen, dwarves do _not _gush." Gimli turned his attention to Éomer, and the marshal chuckled as he sipped his ale. "I was merely…passionate! That is all!"

"You would call _me_ a heathen?" Éomer asked, raising his tankard at Gimli with a rogue grin upon his face. "Perhaps you should not burn a candle so close to a house of straw."

An argument ensued, and Nieriel laughed as she listened to the banter the two shared. Others began to join in, yet Nieriel found her thoughts turned inward, to all that had transpired in the last couple of days.

_My heart, so cold I thought it once was, is torn in two. Where I know that Arwen needs me, would benefit from my comfort and familiarity, it is here I will stay. The guilt from that notion has long passed, or perhaps I have come to accept it as part of this journey. Whatever the reason, I am here… _Her eyes lifted from her swirling ale to Aragorn, who was laughing so hard his chest was jumping and there were tears in his eyes. _With Aragorn getting stronger, both physically and spiritually, Arwen will in turn. Where his newfound hope has come from I will not question nor tally for an answer. The importance lies in the fact that he _has hope.

_And as loathe as I am to admit it, Arwen would want me to stay. Yet I fear for her, not knowing how she is. But I must believe in her as she has asked me to._ _In doing so, I know I will see the end of this war._

"Besides!" Gimli boomed, jabbing a finger into the air and successfully severing Nieriel's line of thought. "If Nieriel is to come with us, it would give us a fair face to gaze at save _his._ By the gods, but if I hear once more about Legolas Greenleaf from his own mouth…" Gimli turned accusing, bushy brows on Legolas, and the roar of laughter that took the table was enormous.

"Where on earth did _that_ come from?" Nieriel spilled out through her own laughter, tears threatening to course down her face.

"So you think me fair, Gimli?" was Legolas's retaliation, and he waggled his brows at the dwarf in suggestion.

"No, but if I hear you say you think that of yourself one more time, I might wish meself blind and deaf!"

The wave of laughter the resulted barely drowned out the rest of their bickering, and as Nieriel settled in to finish her ale, she thought with a grin, _yes, this is where I belong._

* * *

Wrapped in her cloak, Nieriel felt only the caress of the wind as it whipped across the plains and was not bothered by the stinging bite she had first been prey to in coming to Edoras. She watched as it rippled the tall grass, illuminated by the moon that hung in the sky above. It had rained earlier but they were afforded a reprieve at the moment, yet the tall stalks on the hill below shimmered with their movements, bespeaking of the moisture they held.

The torches flickered and danced around her while the guards hunkered close to their warmth, hidden beneath the voluminous folds of their own cloaks and layers of clothes. They bothered her not as she stood at a balustrade facing west, her eyes roving the peaks of the Ered Nimrais.

_I hope Elrohir and Elladan are all right, _she thought, wishing she knew where they were. She had thought about sending a messenger, maybe a pigeon, to tell them she had arrived at Edoras, but her stay here could be short and the notion null if she did know where they were. _But they are strong and sure, have overcome many things worse than this. Still, I cannot help but wish for them to be here by my side. I miss the surety of Elrohir, his stout sense of judgement and courageous heart. And Elladan, what I would not give for one of his smiles, his teasing words to lighten the mood! To think that I once berated him for such things. More so, to think that the last I heard from him was so long ago, when we have barely spent more than a week apart…_

_ And I wonder of Galadriel and Celeborn, if they remain safe in their home of Lórien. Have the trolls trekked there? Do the orcs threaten the safety of the forest? Have the spiders invaded, taking over the depths like that of Mirkwood?_

_ And Elrond… _She felt her chest tighten and her throat burn in response to the thought. _My dearest Lord Elrond… _She closed her eyes, and in response she felt the warmth of his embrace and the soft murmur of his last words to her; how they had invoked such joy, ridden by burning anguish, within her.

"_You are my daughter too, Nieriel."_

A flash of a white, radiant smile stole the memory then, warping it into another that was so close to her heart…

_"What have you got there, my little Nee?"_

_ Nieriel, so young a child was she, glanced up from her kneeling spot in the grass, careful not to move too quickly lest she disrupt her finding._

_ "Come here and I shall show you!" she whispered excitedly._

_ Gracefully, the beautiful Celebrían knelt in the grass before her. With her white gown spilling out onto the pasture green grass, her flesh like cream, and her hair the color of a pale harvest moon, Celebrían shimmered in the low light of the dusk; when the sun had faded beyond the horizon and the moon grew strong, the stars just waking from their slumber. Nieriel looked up at her, eyes ablaze with wonder and exhilaration, and for a moment the thought captured her that the exquisite female before her reminded her of an angel_.

_"Come now my little one," Celebrían placed her soft, warm hands below Nieriel's own, cupping her flesh as Nieriel held her handles together in the semblance of a ball. "Show me!"_

_ Celebrían's laughing tone brought a giggle out of Nieriel, and she carelessly flipped her long hair over one shoulder, her green eyes sparkling in the low light of the summer eve._

_ "I shall part my fingers but just a little, and you will peek in through the hole!" Nieriel began to pry her hands apart to create such a hole, and as Celebrían bent down the child snatched them back together quickly, pulling away slightly. "You must be careful he does not escape!"_

_ "I will be most careful," Celebrían assured her with a stout nod, and Nieriel peered at her in hearty consternation before she looked down at her hands once more._

_ "Look here!" Gently, ever so gently, she separated her hands and Celebrían pulled in closer, hovering her hands above Nieriel's own. "Do you see him_?"

_"I do, my love," Celebrían responded, peeking up at Nieriel with a smile._

_ "So bright, like the sun on a winter's day!"_

_ Celebrían's smile softened, and she clasped Nieriel's hands within her own. "And yet you have captured him."_

_ The child frowned, gazing up at the Elven queen. "I have not! I am only holding him; I will let him go again!"_

_ "Look again," Celebrían said, and with her hands she pried apart Nieriel's own._

_ "Do not! He will fly away…" Nieriel's words trailed off and she wilted, suddenly so saddened by the vision before her._

_ The firefly was dim, his orange glow gone. His wings lay still, only fluttering every so often, and not with the vigor that Nieriel had chased him about the yard with. He crawled, nay, he limped over the planes of her hands, and did not even try to fly away even though he was free to do so._

_ "A creature such as this, much like you and I, is meant to be wild; he or she should not be so hindered. It is not a fault to admire his worth, yet you must do so with gentle care."_

_ Softly, Celebrían lowered her head and parted her lips, and with a breath she blew on the tiny insect, and at once he fluttered, glowing brighter than Nieriel remembered. She gasped as the insect fluttered up to her, landing on her nose for a sparse moment, before taking off into the night sky._

_ "So inquisitive you are, and I admire that trait in you." Celebrían said, reaching out to touch the smooth, milky skin of Nieriel's face. Her hands briefly caressed the scar that rose angry and red along her flesh, but Nieriel only watched Celebrían in wonder; she did not recognize the sadness she saw in her pale blue eyes. "Your love of nature is something I so cherish in you. But you must respect it in turn. That is a living, breathing being, just like you. No one should ever have to live feeling shackled or caged."_

_"Do you feel caged, Celebrían?" Nieriel asked, her voice so innocent._

_ The Elven woman smiled, and she passed a hand down over Nieriel's forehead, and then through her long, glorious hair. "Never. And I am so grateful, every day, that you have been saved from such a fate and brought into my home as my _iell."

_Nieriel's frown was severe, and Celebrían laughed, smoothing the lines that she had created from the young girl's brow._

_ "But I am not of your blood, Celebrían. How can I be your daughter?"_

_ "I feel it here, my love," Celebrían said softly, taking Nieriel's tiny hand and putting it over the center of her chest. "I feel it in my heart."_

* * *

Whereas Celebrían had always thought of Nieriel as her daughter, it was just those few days ago that Elrond had ever acknowledged her as such.

Of course, Nieriel knew that Elrond had loved her long before that; it went without saying. But she had always felt separate from his children, and whether it was a one-sided feeling or not, she knew she did not belong. However his words and the genuine love with which he had embraced her had changed that, and Nieriel thought now that maybe he had felt that way all along and just did not know how to express it. After all he was a severe man, became even more so after the departure of Celebrían, but he had a heart so pure of gold. For who else would have taken a strange child into their home, nurtured them to health and beyond, giving them new life?

_And for that I will always love Elrond; he is the _ada _I never knew. Still, I have never wanted anything more than to have a family of my own. However those dreams are lost to me, so long ago now that I cannot recall the last time I had them. _Nieriel felt her heart clench again, rattling against the icy confines of its cage. _Yet those dreams are waking within me once more, and I know not why…_

_ You do, _her conscience whispered, but she locked the voice behind the steadfast door she had created in her mind; the one to keep out thoughts that would serve her no good.

_I was foolish to dwell on such notions all those weeks ago, _she thought, and at once her thoughts turned dark. _I am past the time for marriage, let alone courtship. And any words that I think or that Aragorn or Gimli speak are rubbish, meant for nothing but taunting._

_ I know my place, my role in this world._

_ Yet after this, where is it that I will go?_

Not for the first time the thought of Aman floated through her mind, and as the wind whipped around her legs she shivered. _To be stuck there forevermore?_

_ I could come to know Celebrían once more; to hold her in my arms, to tell her of all the wonders she has missed… _Pain was so fierce within her that Nieriel lifted a gloved hand to rub her sternum, yet the lump that took her throat would not be dislodged.

_What a premonition of things to come when she spoke to me that night, _Nieriel thought sadly, at the same time a passionate anger screamed through her soul. _If only either of us had known…_

* * *

As the sounds of dinner faded behind him, Legolas pulled up the hood to his cloak and paused just before the threshold of the doors to Meduseld. Indeed the wind whipped tonight, and it sucked the warmth of the burning hearths and snapping sconces away from him in an instant, stealing his breath and numbing his flesh. His booted feet held firm against the onslaught yet his hair was ripped to and fro, tossing with the gales. His nose instantly froze and the tips of his ears quivered, however little else mattered to him save the figure in silhouette before him, one that he would recognize before all others.

She stood with poise and grace, silently, unknowingly beckoning him in a way that he could no longer fight and had no inkling to do so. The notion concerned him, for just who was this woman that called to the depths of his soul? And then he cared little, if not at all, for those thoughts were too loud, too cumbersome, to entertain. He stepped over the threshold and into the thick of the inclement weather, and all that mattered was getting close to her, beholding her exquisite features and inhaling her stunning scent.

He stepped again, his feet making no noise, yet she turned ever so slightly, and her green eyes narrowed at the intrusion. Anger was so rank within the depths of her orbs that it immediately leached into him, and he wondered who he had to kill in retribution for causing her to be thus. Yet so fleeting was the ire; it was replaced by a warm relief, the forest green of her eyes lightening to a spring emerald. His chest swelled. _For me? _he would ponder only in the quietest, most private recesses of his mind. Yet she turned from him and crossed her arms, returning her attention to the fields and mountains beyond.

He came to stand beside her, so close that they almost touched. He could feel her warmth and he reveled in the subtle connection between them, however soundless and brooding it may be on her end. He was alive. His body hummed from his toes to his head, his blood singing with fire. He could tell she was riddled with indecision this night; it was in her posture, in the fine line of her lips. In the way she kept her gaze straight ahead, not once looking over at him. Yet he was fine with that; he was absolutely more than happy to be standing beside her in silence than not at all.

By the gods, but he had missed her. More so than he ever thought rational or possible. And to be with her now was almost blissfully unfathomable when just days ago he could not stop thinking he would never see her again, that he _had _to do anything to see her again.

His time with her upon her return had been precious, memories he would tuck away for the darkest of times. Yes, he may have mucked up and gotten drunk and may only have fuzzy memories of that night of the celebration. But she had been _here, _and that was all that mattered. She had come back, and his heart had soared.

He stared at her now, openly and without remorse. It made her visibly uncomfortable; he did not care. He was being selfish and he knew it. But he wanted to eat up the sight of her, starved for her as he felt he was. He was famished, ravenous for any hint of her, and he would stand here all night if that meant he could bask in the essence that was she.

Yet after a time the need grew too strong. He shifted to face her slightly, and the movement drew her eye. He brought a gloved hand up slightly and then dropped it, unsure of what he wanted to do. However she had turned just so to watch him, giving him the vantage he so wanted to peruse. He stared at her and his hand came up once more, scarcely trembling beneath the confines of his glove. How he ached to touch her! No, he would not be deterred from his course now; with slow, methodical movements he closed the space between them, and all rational thought blew away on the wind. All that mattered was that they had turned to face one another and his hand was mere inches from her cheek and then it was _there_ and everything suddenly fell into place.

With that simple gesture, everything in the world was unbelievably and undoubtedly right.

He watched as she closed her eyes, turning her cheek ever so into his outstretched palm. She stepped closer to him then, and he was sure she did not know she had moved; she seemed as innately drawn to him as he was to her. Their chests touched, so close he could feel the shallow, rapid rise and fall as it matched his own. The warmth between them amplified, taking over the cold, bitter wind from the night. His thumb moved over her cheekbone and her lips parted, a breath sighing out of her, melodically and wistfully.

It barely lasted a heartbeat longer.

Nieriel turned her face from his grasp and in a flash she departed from him, so abruptly that it stole his breath. He watched her go, her grey cloak fluttering wildly in the wind, her stride so quick and sure. Never once did she hesitate, never once did she look back.

He knew because he watched long after she was gone.

* * *

The next morning the wind was replaced by the shining sun and a cloudless sky, however deep rain puddles were abundant, the dew was thick, and the dirt had liquefied to mud. It made for precarious training grounds, but Nieriel would not be deterred from her practice just as assuredly as the men of Rohan would accompany her. Aragorn was in attendance as well, yet had perched on a nearby bench with a pipe rather than his sword for he was still in the latter stages of recovery. Gimli and Legolas were present too yet Éomer and Théoden were absent, busy tending to the matters of Edoras.

The morning was trundling along quite nicely; the turn in weather brought more people from their homes as the hours proceeded, and a gaggle of children had gathered beyond the fence to watch the sparring. A time or two Nieriel urged Aragorn to join, her words enthusiastically bolstered by the urging of the children, but always the ranger shook his head in declination; it did not slip her notice, however, that the negation was always followed by a glance to the mountains.

_I wonder if he is watching for something, _she thought, wiping sweat from her brow with the back of her sleeve. _He watches the uppermost peak, where the beacon lies in wait. Peculiar…_

From swordplay to archery, from knives to spear-throwing Nieriel practiced her skill, lending tips and receiving aid from those better skilled in some arts than she. The Rohirrim were a warm and welcoming people, and in deference to the reserve they had first treated her with, they now openly spoke with and jested with her, and Nieriel found herself constantly light of heart. It was refreshing and she thought highly of them as well, especially when they proved such tenacity on the battlefield—

A cry of alarm rent the air and Nieriel dropped her sword arm, her head whipping to the right. She watched as Strider bolted to his feet, his gaze rapt on the mountain that housed the beacon, his pipe falling to the ground in his bewilderment. Nieriel followed his gaze and her eyes widened as answering shouts sounded after Aragorn's at the realization the beacon was lit, blazing bright and proud.

And then Aragorn ran. She watched in stupefaction as he sprinted up the hill, heading for Meduseld and bellowing at the top of his lungs, "_The beacon is lit!_"

It did not take long for the others to spring to action in his wake. First it was Gimli, then Legolas, followed by a myriad of other soldiers. Nieriel, her stun shaken, darted after them, lugging her sword with her as her mind raced faster than her feet.

_The beacon is lit?_

_ Gondor… It can only be Gondor!_

Up, up, up the stairs, passing men, taking two steps at a time. She watched as Aragorn flew up the stone steps and burst through the doors to Meduseld, too impatient to wait for the guards to open them for him.

"The beacons are lit!" he cried once more, alarming those in the hall with his presence.

Nieriel raced across the stone after him, sliding to a halt just over the threshold, heaving for breath and flushed in the face. Aragorn was striding toward the dais where Éomer and Théoden stood pouring over paperwork, their eyes wide and spilling with apprehension and disbelief at the sudden outburst.

Aragorn marched across the hall and stood before the dais, saying loudly, "Gondor calls for aid!"

Amrothos and Legolas quickly followed by Gimli hurried into the hall, stopping next to Nieriel, to hear the last of Aragorn's words. Panting, Nieriel turned her eyes to Théoden, to Aragorn, and then back to Théoden, watching as he processed what Aragorn had said.

She knew the moment he was resolved. Théoden straightened his spine, threw back his shoulders with courage stout in his chest while his gloved hands curled into fists.

"And Rohan will answer."

* * *

_**AN: **_I have nothing to share but remorse for my hiatus; I apologize, but hopefully it can be overlooked, if not forgiven. I won't offer excuses or anything of the like; I think it would be somewhat insulting at this point. And unfortunately I don't come back with something exciting and thrilling to make up for it; just the next chapter in the series, however it is still one of my favorites. Hopefully I can be a bit more consistent in the future, but I have learned that that means I can't be consistent at all. Just stick around is all I can ask.

Thank you for the continued support, the wonderful messages and reviews. Nothing makes me happier than to see that this story still has momentum and is capturing hearts and minds.

Happy holidays to you all, and good luck in the new year!


	24. Chapter 24: Awash in Memory

**Chapter Twenty-Four: Awash in Memory**

The journey to Dunharrow was not a long one; they made excellent time to the vale, arriving in the evening. It was planned that the company would spend no more than two days waiting for troops to bolster their numbers; on the third day, they would ride for Gondor.

Nieriel only hoped that they would make it in time.

_Perhaps that was what Gandalf was talking about, _she thought as she dismounted Stormwind, affectionately patting his neck and surveying the clifftop she was to call home for the next couple of nights. _When he spoke of things set in motion that could not be undone._

In the valley below the cliff of Dunharrow was Harrowdale, and Nieriel peered down there now, watching as the soldiers below set up their camps against the March weather. Théoden and his personal camp, including herself, would take to the clifftop, which proved to be an excellent vantage point for the surrounding fields. Behind her, looming tall and slightly foreboding were the White Mountains, while in all other directions lay the splendid lands of Rohan, with the Snowbourn slightly angled to the south.

The land of the valley was lush and green, boasting merrily the ides of early spring even in the shadow of the Ered Nimrais. Trees scattered about the wide expanse of green, now intermingled with fires as camps sprang up, and thickened to a forest behind the tents of Théoden's personal retinue upon the cliff and at the base of the mountains. They were close enough to the river Snowbourn that they were able to fetch water freely and amply, and Nieriel watched the goings-on for a moment longer before taking Stormwind to tether for the evening.

The tension in the air was thick, swelled even more so as the shadows grew and the wind whispered through the trees. War was not only on the horizon, but had topped it, was riding steadily toward them. The initial thrill of that knowledge had smoldered to muted trepidation, and Nieriel could already see the light of fear in the eyes of those around her. She could read the looks on the soldiers' faces, heard their murmurs throughout the course of the day.

_There are not many of us._

_ This army of foes is rumored to be even larger than the last._

_ Our hope lies with Éomer and Gamling; we must have faith that they can bring with them sufficient allies._

For truth the marshal and his comrade had ridden out to secure reinforcements, but on such short notice and with so many villages having been ransacked, Nieriel was unsure of the numbers they would procure. However, Aragorn remained passionate, rode tall and proud next to Théoden on the quest here, and Nieriel tried to garner some of his hope for her own.

For there was another cause for unrest. Nestled into the mountains loomed a darkness she was not well acquainted with, yet had heard tales of all her life. _The Paths of the Dead. _She shivered then, and it was not because of the chill in the air. Glancing upward as she removed Stormwind's bridle, to the grey and jagged outface of the stone, she could not help but feel unease.

_The Dead Army is only a tale, _her conscience snarled in refute. _There is no such thing that exists._

Shaking her head to relieve it of the notion, Nieriel removed Stormwind's accoutrements and brushed him down before tying him to a tree for the evening, leaving him enough slack to graze on the surrounding grass. A small boy approached her and told her a tent had been erected for her on the outskirts of the camp, and with a grateful nod she asked him if he would bring water to her horse. The boy complied and Nieriel offered him a silver coin, which he snatched with a quick thank you before running off to do her bidding.

The camp had sprung up quickly. Neat rows of ivory tents were pitched beneath the starlight, and under the largest one Nieriel watched as women scampered to serve hungry men. Nieriel pulled her gloves from weary hands as she wove her way between tents, with a mind to freshen herself before she partook in any food. Fires were alight here and there, some with men already eating around them, others just coming to life in the cold shadow of the night. There was laughter here and there, loud conversations and revelry from each and every site.

_Who would ever have thought that my journey would lead me here? _Nieriel thought, dipping into the tent which had been allotted for her. She had not expected the kindness but was grateful for it; there was a small pallet of blankets both fur and linen in one corner and a small table with a washbasin and a cloth atop it in the opposite. There was a standing sconce in the corner across from the pallet which rationed her some heat, and the light it afforded her was just enough for her tired eyes. There was an unlit candle next to the basin, a time candle at that, and as Nieriel surveyed her small surroundings she could not feel more appreciative for Théoden's kindness.

She dropped her saddlebag by the opening of the tent and walked to the basin, eager for the cool water that lie in wait. She placed her gloves to the side and with a sigh began to remove her gauntlets, every last one of her blades, and leather breastplate, only now realizing in the dim quiet how exhausted she truly was.

_So far from home, the furthest I have ever been. _Nieriel tossed her leathers gently to the makeshift bed, revealing the green tunic, belt, and brown leather breeches underneath, and then bent at the waist to wash her face.

_But I have never felt more where I am meant to be. _She took the cloth and wiped her face clean, gently patting her neck as well. With a quick flick of her wrist she withdrew her hair from its tie and then pulled it back once more, and then washed her battered hands before embarking from the tent to scourge some dinner.

_I only wish Elladan and Elrohir were here, or at the very least knew where we had gone, _she thought, walking soundlessly, slowly, between the tents. The commotion was loud this night, and as Nieriel slipped between sites she heard bits of conversations from soldiers old and new; there was bragging of battles past from the elders, hope for bloodshed from the greenhorns, and eagerness all around. She could not help but savor the speak of war, and as she came upon the cook's tent a smile took her. She thanked the comely woman that offered her a ration of meat and a hunk of bread with a small nod, and then turned to find a seat, perhaps with her companions, for the solitude of her tent this night did not appeal to her.

_Will I ever see them again? Their last words spoken to me could very well be all that I ever hear from them again. _Her eyes were on the tips of her boots as she walked, a bite of bread masticating in her mouth. _This could be my last journey, my last battle. _Her thoughts had turned dark, yet it could not be helped, even in the wake of such high spirits from the Rohirrim. _And whereas before I was eager to expect such a fate for a noble cause, I suddenly…want more than to just die in battle…_

She spied Gimli's bushy head of hair not so far from where she stood, having lifted her head to shake away the petulant inkling. _Wherever did that come from? _With another toss of her head she set her pace, and Legolas, Aragorn, and the Dol Amroth captain came into view from around a campfire betwixt a gaggle of tents.

_What would be their stories if the twins were here this night? _She thought, to distract herself from wayward reflections. _Would they tell of skirmishes with the pirates of Umbar, and how they helped to defend the Shire with Gandalf? Or perhaps of the Battle of the Field of Celebrant, where they swept through a scuffle between orcs and Men that did not concern them, to help lay claim to victory?_

_ No, _she thought then, coming to sit next to Aragorn around the fire. _They will tell that silly tale of how I fled a nazgûl with my tail between my legs; indeed it is their most favorite. Yet perhaps still there is some other silly memory from our childhood that I have long forgotten…_

* * *

_ "Father says maidens should not play with swords."_

_ Nieriel did not miss the strong parry that was so surely meant to send her to her knees. However, her words were cross as she said, "I am not _playing."

_Elladan sat on the fence, his long, lean legs dangling as his sparkling grey eyes watched her every move, her every sweep, her every strike. His adolescent body was draped so nonchalantly, tall and lanky and awkward, yet he watched her move with a rapt attention he did not likewise show to his studies._

_ "He thinks they should be inside, with a needle in their hands."_

_ Nieriel knew he was talking only to try and distract her. For that was Elladan; he was always riling her, pestering her, or causing her some malady._

_ "However he has not forbid me from this," Nieriel said as sweat dripped into her eyes. Frustrated, she swiped a hand over her forehead and pushed her hair back, wishing that Arwen would not object so when she wished to cut it. _It would not be in my way now, that is for bloody sure.

_"Only because your head is as hard as the entirety of the Misty Mountains."_

_ She struck hard and fast with her sword against the elder soldier she had coerced into practice, grunting with strain. Morohtar was a general in Elrond's army, had been for countless years, and was as wise as he was brutal, as strong as he was strategic. Nieriel had sought him out for his knowledge and expertise, but he had refused her thrice before she finally whittled him down enough to acquiesce to her request. She may be young, not yet even the quarter of a millennia, but she had heart, and she wanted so desperately to fight._

_ It had taken an even more insufferable amount of weeks to convince Elrond to allow her to practice swordplay, and Celebrían had put up an even stauncher front than he. However, Nieriel had worked her tongue on them as well, chattering and begging and pleading incessantly, and at last she was here, she had her chance to prove herself and the skill she knew she had! But what front was she putting on now? Her blow was sloppy and slid off Morohtar's own wooden one, telling of the affect Elladan was having on her. She could not concentrate with that nark chittering away like a chipmunk!_

And maybe this is a little harder than I thought it might be.

_ She did not have to see Elladan's smirk to know he was satisfied with his ploys._

_ "Are boys always such a nuisance, or is it just you Elladan? I do not recall Elrohir ever being so pestering."_

_ The boy's smirk was replaced with a darkened frown. Nieriel could not help but to shoot him her own satisfied sneer._

_ Which cost her._

_ She received a thorough slap of Morohtar's practice blade to her wrist, which caused her to drop her sword. Surrendering to his point, she had to withstand his grim countenance as he said, "You let yourself get distracted. If I were a true foe, you know what awaits you."_

_ "Death," she replied, and in turn heard Elladan chuckle._

_ In youthful outrage she shot him a heated glare, and the lack of composure afforded the general to slip the blade beneath her chin. It was only wooden, for that was one of the contingents she had to agree upon for him to battle her, a young female. But his point had been made._

_ "You allow your emotions to drive you," Morohtar said, driving the dull point into her flesh. Nieriel held so still, not even daring to breathe, and met his eyes, honing in on the dispassionate disappointment she had evoked in them. "And in doing so you will fail. Every time. Think you an enemy will hesitate if you but glance away? Think you they will take it easier on you because you are female? If anything they will be coarser, their thoughts filled with a debauchery you do not even wish to have nightmares of. I would think that scar on your face would have taught you something."_

_ He threw his practice blade at her feet and Nieriel flinched at the movement, but also his words. She knew she would have to sweep the ring, put the blades away, and bear the shame of her defeat for days to come as her punishment. _And I have squandered my only chance for swordplay, for who else will practice with me? I did not even make it an hour. Elrond has instilled fear into their hearts if the other soldiers were to agree to parry, and Elladan and Elrohir have their own tutors. _Disheartened, her shoulders wilting, she turned her gaze to the ground. _Perhaps I can convince Arwen…

_"You will meet me here tomorrow at dawn. Find a smaller, lighter blade. We will start with the basics; I now know where you stand."_

_ Jerking her gaze up, Nieriel watched as the general turned his broad back on her and walked away, his long hair swaying, the ebony locks catching in the low light of twilight._

_ The notion that he was giving her a second chance was exhilarating._

_ And so her smile was radiant as she knelt to pick up the blade, thinking of all the ways she had to prepare for her scheduled session tomorrow. However, at the same time her fingers wrapped around the hilt there was another, and she glanced up to meet Elladan's eyes._

_ She glared at him, petulantly jerking the blade from him. Without a word, she came to her feet at the same time he did, and she turned away to avoid noticing how well he towered over her. _When did that happen, anyway?

_"Nee…"_

_ "No. Go away." She took her longsword and the practice blade to the stand where they were kept, and then grabbed the broom to settle the dirt in the practice ring._

_ "I thought you were merely testing your abilities!" Elladan danced on light feet after her, matching her every step as she began to sweep over the coarse ditches in the dirt._

_ "Is that not what one does when one practices?" Nieriel clipped, her anger evident._

_ Elladan's sigh was aggravated. "Yes, but I did not know you were truly serious!"_

_ Flabbergasted, Nieriel paused and turned to Elladan. "Do you think I enjoyed begging Elrond for the last month for the chance to practice with one of his officers? Do you think I enjoyed asking countless soldiers to teach me, only to watch them laugh or deny me? I want to _fight, _Elladan. Minding a needle and thread is not for me. I was born to wield a blade, a bow, a spear. I can feel it. I know it. You almost completely ruined my chances for your own enjoyment. And now Morohtar thinks me a fool, if not a girlish fool who cannot keep her head."_

_ Frustrated, Elladan mindlessly spat, "If I knew he was going to talk about your scar I would not have intervened at all! I saw how upset you got."_

_ "This is not about my scar!" Nieriel said heatedly, loudly, slashing a hand through the air. And she vaguely thought, _was it that evident? At any rate, there go my emotions, like Morohtar said. But Elladan is so infuriating!_ "This is about getting revenge for my family, to learn to protect myself so I am never a victim again, for as long as I live."_

_ Elladan rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes searching the dirt beneath his boots as if they held the answers he sought to see himself from the hole he had dug with Nieriel. "Perhaps you can try to find another diversion. Like the harp."_

_ Nieriel glowered. "I hate the harp."_

_ "The lyre?"_

_ "No."_

_ "How about a spindle?"_

_ "You are maddening."_

_ Elladan, the young boy she thought of as her pestering little brother but loved with her whole heart, softened before her. His youthful face adopted a sadness she had not seen in his eyes before, and his voice was gentle as he said, "I do not want to see you hurt, Nee."_

_ "And I will not be," Nieriel said with such determination that she almost believed herself. She resumed her sweeps with the broom. "That is why I am training with Morohtar."_

_ Elladan snatched the broom from her hands, his tone back to the light jesting she was so used to as he waggled his brows at her._

_ "Hey!"_

_ He tossed the broom to the ground and grabbed her hands instead. "Would you not dance with me instead of that silly contraption? I promise I am much more light on my feet."_

_ Nieriel tossed her head back and laughed, her long brown hair flowing freely down her back and fluttering in the evening breeze. She shook her head at Elladan when he winked roguishly at her, yet allowed him to grab her about the waist and twirl her gaily across the dirt._

_ "I must clean this!"_

_ "You have all night to sweep!"_

_ "Elladan!" She pushed against him, yet the gesture was futile. His chest was broad, as hard as bands of steel, wrapped around strong bones and flexing muscles. She laughed once more, allowing herself to be carried across the training grounds. "Let me go!"_

_ "Never," he told her, and she laughed and laughed and laughed._

_ And for every day to follow until his death Morohtar trained with Nieriel, sharpening her skills, pushing her beyond her limits day in and day out. In all aspects of war he trained her: every blade, every defense, healing, strategy, espionage, cavalry, and more. Some days they spent inside studying maps and books. Others they meditated, took long walks through the forest, or rode for hours over the countryside. He was the first to suggest to her to use two blades instead of a sword, which turned out to be her strength. She flourished._

_ Yes, Elrond did not like her taking up the art of weaponry, but he was not so much a fool to not recognize her potential, her gift. And though Celebrían liked the sessions less, she supported her dearest Nieriel. So throughout the years Nieriel shined, blossoming into power, overflowing with confidence and expertise, and hardening day by day, cold and unfeeling, with retribution. Her days of laughter, of frivolity, of carelessness faded into those etched in duty, disdain, and the knowledge that someday, she would avenge her family._

_ And throughout the years, Elladan never left her side._

* * *

"It soothes me to be back beneath the mountains," Gimli said then, interrupting Nieriel's thoughts. She glanced at the dwarf as he tipped back his head to look at the vast sky above, which was still not dark enough to twinkle with starlight. "It is almost like being home."

"Oh you are not back beneath the mountains yet, but perhaps I could hurry things along for you?" Legolas intoned flippantly, and Aragorn and Éomer laughed while Nieriel smiled, shaking her head.

"Have you ever seen the Glittering Caves, elf?" Gimli asked, squinting up at the night sky, his half-eaten bowl of stew settled in his lap. "If I were to be underground there, I do not think I would mind so much."

"As that is a dwarfish realm, I would have to say no."

"Ah, but it belongs to the dominion of Rohan," Éomer interjected. "Though we use it not for its beauty, but for storage."

"A waste," Gimli huffed, bringing narrowed, gleaming eyes to the man who had spoken, as if accusing him of desecration. He then looked at Legolas. "You have never seen such gloriousness as that of Aglarond!"

"Are we to await your poetry on it?" Legolas raised a brow and Nieriel chuckled, her eyes on her food as she listened to them bicker. "Go on then, woo us with your words."

"You may make jests now," Gimli said, wagging a finger at the elf across the fire. "But when this is over we will travel there and you will be speechless, mark my words."

Legolas groaned. Loudly. "To have to endure more of your presence? I can think of no greater horror."

And so their banter continued, and Nieriel forgot her troubles for a while as she listened. _Though they would be so quick to deny it, they are to be the best of friends, _she thought of the elf and the dwarf, and was not so disgruntled when she thought the same of Gimli and herself.

* * *

When the moon rose to his peak and the camp began to settle for the night, Nieriel was among the first to take watch. She offered to search the forest beyond the camp, and was just disembarking from her tent with her blades strapped to her back when she encountered Legolas, who dropped to a low bow before her.

"May I accompany you?"

Her heart jumped, and she did not hesitate to nod.

Together, in silence, they traversed from the camp, leaving the lingering fires and murmured conversations behind. As they stepped over the threshold into the trees an immense sense of quiet transcended, the goings-on of the camp lost to the whispering of the trees and the melodies of the creatures of the night. Instead of the crackling of the fire it was that of the deadened leaves underfoot, crunching with every step they took no matter how light they trod. The glow of the campfires dimmed and the light of the moon reigned, and Nieriel glanced briefly up, wondering if Arwen and Elrond were beholding the same sight.

She found she spoke her thoughts aloud. "I wonder if it is cloudy in Rivendell this night, or if Arwen and Elrond can see the crescent as we do."

Legolas smiled, and his voice was soft so it did not carry, lest there were evil-doers lurking in places they could not sense. "I wonder the same about my father some nights."

"Would he spend time looking at the stars? From what you have told me of him I would not assume such."

"When I was little he would take me to the tallest tree, and we would climb to the top. He was much quicker than I, and I would stumble a lot, but he had all the patience in the world. He would help me from branch to branch, show me the best leverage to use to climb higher, with more surety. My mother liked to jest that he is where I got my sense of adventure from, and my knack for climbing trees." He smiled then, a secret smile stolen from his memories, and his voice was softer when he spoke again. "We would spend the night looking at the sky. My father would point out different moons, so far off in the distance, and recite the stories of the constellations by heart while pointing out every individual star."

"Elrond used to get so disconcerted when Arwen and I climbed trees. Until he discovered that we would climb them regardless of his heeds." Nieriel smiled as well, and she shared a look with Legolas then, one that lingered far too long. And then she did not care at all.

"Have you ever asked of your own kin?" Legolas queried, and it was then that Nieriel looked away. Her eyes strayed to her boots, stilled muddied from the ride to Dunharrow. "Your mother or father, perhaps an uncle or a sibling?"

"Elrond made inquiries on my behalf, but when no one was forthcoming he did not pursue the matter. Too many lives were lost in the war, so many children orphaned and families splintered. It was to be a lost cause."

"And you never thought of taking up the challenge in your adulthood?"

"To what end? Arwen and her kin are mine own; they have never made me feel otherwise."

_Yet they are not, at least not in the blood sense. They may love you as kin would, and you the same, but there is a connection they have betwixt one another that you are missing. Do not lie to this male. You want to know your family. Have always wanted to know your family. What really happened, all those years ago. Were you abandoned? Was your family killed? Do you have a brother, perhaps a sister?_

"But does not some part of you long to know from whence you came? If you could have any kin out there?" Legolas insisted.

"It has been hundreds of years, Legolas. I have given that hope up long ago." Nieriel said, despite her inner musings; in fact, she spoke so to shut them out. "I have not been lacking when it comes to love and acceptance. You know I would do anything for Arwen, and Elrond just the same. The twins are my brothers, and Celebrían was the greatest, most loving mother I could ever wish to have.

"She considered me her daughter, without thought or hesitation. She was patient with me when I would not speak; I remember she would read to me every afternoon, in the low light in gazebo. The wind would play in her hair, tickling my flesh. She smelled of mint and lemons." Nieriel smiled, the memory as clear and as bright as sunshine. "She taught me to write, to read. To lace my dresses on my own, to braid hair. She did not like it when I picked up a weapon but she supported me, always asked what I had learned new when I sparred. She gifted me dresses, gowns I would never wear, in hopes I would grow out of my liking of all things sharp… I never did, in case you were wondering."

Legolas chuckled and Nieriel smiled in return. She looked at her feet, watching as the leaves tousled around her worn and weary boots.

"She was always smiling, so happy and full of light. She and Elrond were beautiful together, their love so pure; I could only hope for such an affair. She spoiled her children, if only just to smooth the look of disappointment from Elrond's face when he realized what creature she had brought home next. She loved to bring them inside; mice, orphaned deer, a rabbit from time to time. He was never cross with her, at least not for long. She was everything to him, every part of his world; she was golden, pure innocence, so full of life and radiance."

Her smile dimmed then, and then was lost altogether. "And then she was captured. Held by orcs, tortured, hurt. For days, countless days she suffered by their revolting hands. Elladan and Elrohir rescued her, but she lost her light."

Nieriel dipped her head and then brought her gaze to meet Legolas's own, and it was so fierce, so full of fire, that she felt the burn within her very marrow. "It is why I have vowed to kill every orc I cross, or myself be damned."

She looked away then, to the path they were forging ahead. The trees were getting denser, their thick, twining bodies naked of foliage, yet there was an owl on a branch up ahead, and Nieriel spied a trio of bats fluttering up in the canopy. The moon was bright now as were the stars, telling that it would be a clear night. Nieriel could not say that she would miss the winds of Edoras. To be back amongst the trees was calming, and she took a deep breath of the pines within the forest, of the cold, bitter air swirling through the brush. Ire leaked out of her slowly, and she closed her eyes to release the last of it through a long, drawn out sigh.

"Maybe one day, after all of this, I can help you," Legolas said to her after a while, and she looked at him then, snorting her hilarity.

"To kill orcs? That is not something I need help achieving, Legolas."

The elf laughed once more. "Not to kill orcs. To find your family."

Nieriel faltered. Comically, as a jester might do, one foot over another. Legolas reached out to steady her and laughed as he said, "Are you all right?"

Nieriel stared at him, wide-eyed and speechless. _That is to be the most selfless, kindest thing anyone has ever said to me._

_ Not even Arwen, not even Elladan or Elrohir has offered such a thing._

"Nieriel?" Legolas repeated, frowning, his hands tightening on her elbows. "Are you all right?"

"Fine," Nieriel barked, and then pulled herself gracelessly from Legolas's grasp. She immediately set to stride, her gaze locked tight ahead. Her knees would not cooperate; they felt like gelatin. Her legs were tingling; she could not even feel her toes. Her eyes were blurred for some absurd reason and her throat felt as though she had swallowed fire. "Absolutely fine."

"Well you are not acting like you are fine. Are you sure? You almost fell." Legolas leapt over the brambles to catch up to her, his eyes rife with the concern he felt.

"I said I was fine Legolas." _As fine as I can be after an offer like that. Truly, no one has ever made such a proposition to me. So noble, and he did it without hesitation, without remorse. Indeed, with his careless smile and easy way. For that is Legolas._

"What? What did I say? Was it something I said?"

"You are being a nuisance."

"And you are being obtuse."

A smile tweaked her mouth, but Nieriel hid it, keeping her gaze ahead.

_If I had a wandering mind, I would speculate what would make Legolas offer such a thing to one such as me. For what am I to him?_

_ It could also be of thought to ponder if he had ever done so for anyone else._

"Tell me," Nieriel said to derail her musings. They were growing increasingly dangerous to her sanity. "What will you do when this war is over?"

There was a beat of silence, one in which a strange tension shot up between them. And then: "My father would have me marry."

His vehemence startled Nieriel into looking at him, her surprise stark and apparent, cold on her features. However, his gaze was hard on the path ahead; and Nieriel noticed then he was trying to do everything he could think of to not meet her questioning gaze. He looked left to study a thicket, he looked right to measure the tide of the creek running beside them. He looked at the sky, through the skeletal arms of the trees, and then to his feet, where his eyes grew hooded, shadowed.

"What?" Nieriel trembled as a breathless response, and she was so sure, though she would staunchly deny it, that her heart had fallen to the pit of her stomach. "Marry?"

Legolas looked at her, and then quickly away. Almost as if he had wished he had not spoken; because of distaste on the subject or from remorse of her knowing, Nieriel did not know. Would never know.

"Yes," was his clipped reply.

That word, that single word, was like a shard of ice through her heart.

Suddenly everything made sense, and then nothing at all.

The darkness that had encapsulated her returned, and her eyes remained trained on the forest when she asked, "Does he have anyone in mind?"

His nonresponse was response enough.


End file.
